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William Shakespeare 







The Western Series of English and 
American Classics 


Twelfth Night 

By 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 


Edited by 
S. R. Hadsell 

Professor of English in 
The University of Oklahoma 


HARLOW PUBLISHING COMPANY 
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma 
1930 







Copyright 1930 By 

Harlow Publishing Co. 






TO THE READER 


If you will read or study this play carefully, you 
will be amused, entertained, and instructed. It is 
necessary for you to put yourself in the place of 
Shakespeare who created it. It is necessary for you 
to put yourself in the place of the Elizabethans who 
enjoyed it in the English theatre in the sixteenth cem 
tury. It is necessary for you to enter into the spirit 
of the comedy as if you were an actor or a character 
in it. 

If we were inviting you to enter London or Paris 
instead of Illyria, we might tell you in advance what 
to look for and what you should not miss. In the 
same way let us suggest some of the elements in this 
play which you should not miss. You will make many 
discoveries for yourself, but we wish to stimulate 
your interest, awaken your curiosity, and give you a 
motive for alert reading. 

In the first place, look alive. Keep your eyes and 
ears open. Reading is a kind of riddling, for often 
the author hides secrets from those who have not 
sharp eyes. Reading poetry is like playing the game 
of “I Spy.” Do you think you have eyes to see all 
that Shakespeare has half revealed and half concealed, 
all that he has hidden in “plain sight”? 

Do not miss the point that Shakespeare is telling 
a good story in a dramatic way. By means of actors 
talking and moving upon a stage, he has created an 
illusion of life. Turn your imagination into a pro¬ 
jecting machine like the one in a moving picture thea¬ 
tre and project the characters into living people. Vis¬ 
ualize the street in Illyria a long time ago. Visualize 

'The reader may be a pupil in the high school, a student 
in college, or a self-taught reader. 



If 


Twelfth Night 


the sea-coast and the shipwreck. Visualize the gar¬ 
den of Olivia and the home of the Duke. Visualize 
the parts of Olivia’s house where Sir Toby and Sir 
Andrew hold forth and where Maria and the clown 
play practical jokes upon Malvolio. This will call 
your attention to the setting. 

There is plenty of plot in this play. Do not miss 
that. A pair of twins can always produce amusing 
situations. Since one here is a woman, the other a 
man, and since the woman disguises as a man, the 
plot thickens. Notice how the strands of the story 
become tangled, and with what skill the strands are 
at last untangled. Why is it that the story cannot 
stand still after it begins? Watch the special work 
which each act does. See if the first act introduces 
you to the characters and tells you what their 
troubles are. See if affairs begin to get tangled 
in the second act, more complicated in the third. 
Possibly the third act will begin the solution of 
the complexities, but the fourth may slow down the 
movement and throw you off the track if you thought 
you knew how the story would end. See if the fifth 
act contains surprises, and if it unties all knots and 
leaves you satisfied. 

If it takes all kinds of people to make a world, it 
also takes several kinds of people to make a play. 
The desires and actions of different, pronounced in¬ 
dividuals will cross or oppose each other. See if we 
have normal people here, people with exaggerated per¬ 
sonalities as well as fools and servants and some who 
only fill in the tableaux. It is necessary to understand 
that there was once a theory that you could classify 
a man by his ruling passion, his “Humour.” “Hum¬ 
ourous” characters then were types. These charac¬ 
teristics are revealed plainly. For example Sir Toby 
and Malvolio are easier to understand than Viola. 


Twelfth Night 


iii 


Many of these people seem to pose, to be artificial. 
The Duke poses as a lover. Olivia poses as a mourner. 
Sir Andrew poses as a graceful courtly gentleman. 
Sir Toby poses as a sober man. We laugh at these 
people for trying to be what we see they are not. In 
the fifth act most of these posers take off their masks 
and become human, normal, lovable, wholesome folk. 

Shakespeare was audacious in the use of language. 
The Elizabethans, too, used language as if they en¬ 
joyed it. There was a rich period in vocabulary. As 
we look back three hundred years to their words, we 
see them as coins newly minted; we realize too how 
words change by taking on new meanings and by 
dropping some of the old. The similies, metaphors, 
images, and phrases of all kinds will bear watching. 
A poet is always concrete, he sees with the eye of 
imagination. If any passage seems to you to be ab¬ 
stract and general and meaningless, study the words 
and figures of speech a moment. To your surprise 
and delight a picture will appear before you. Shakes¬ 
peare enjoyed pictures, he thought in pictures, he 
was a poet dramatist. Do not miss the poetry and 
the rich language in this play. There is swearing 
here, and slang, and colloquial phrases, and borrowed 
phrases which seem to sound fine to those who use 
them, and fine dignified simple speeches worth mem¬ 
orizing. Learn to discriminate. 

When one visits a strange city which has been 
praised in his hearing, he wonders if that city will 
impress him as it impresses others. If it does not, 
he should not. pretend that it does for social reasons. 
Thousands have enjoyed Twelfth Night. Do you see 
in it what others see, what trained observers see? 
Do you see something for yourself which others have 
overlooked? Do not be one who cannot see the wood 
because of the trees, or one who cannot see the trees 


IV 


Twelfth Night 


because of the wood. If this play is good, it is good 
as a whole and it is good in details. Look at a fine 
piece of furniture. How does it strike you as it sits 
in its place in a room? Do you like its general ap¬ 
pearance? Examine it closely. The scholar, the 
critic, the carpenter, the designer, the artist always 
looks closely. Can you say that the carving, the 
workmanship, the finish are good? Does the piece re¬ 
veal something of the soul of an honest workman? 
Judge, or learn to judge, a play by Shakespeare in the 
same way. 


AN ABSTRACT OF THE LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE 

We are setting forth an outline of the life of Shakes¬ 
peare in a form which you can remember. We divide 
the life into periods of ten years for this reason. 

The First Ten Years 1564-1574 
Birth 1564 

Baptized April 26, 1564. Lived in Stratford on-the- 
Avon. Possibly went to Grammar School, because 
his father was well to do, a member of the town 
council, and able to send him. As a boy, probably 
helped in his father’s trade of butcher, mercer, glover. 

The Second Decade 1574-1584 

Shakespeare’s father not prosperous. 

1582 Shakespeare married to Anne Hathaway 
(Shakespeare 19, his wife 27). 

1583 A daughter, Susanna, bflotized at Stratford. 

1584 Twins, Hamnet and Judith, a boy and a girl, 
baptized. 

The tradition arose (first reported nearly one hun¬ 
dred years after Shakespeare’s death) that Shakes¬ 
peare stole deer from the park of Sir Thomas Lucy 
near Stratford. Biographers hint at this period as 
that of Shakespeare’s “wild oats,” and reason that 
this is why he left Stratford for London. Of course 
the city may have attracted him anyway. 

The Third Decade 1584-1594 

Shakespeare interested in dramatic performances. 
1587 Shakespeare in London, possibly engaged in 
some kind of work around the theatres. There 
is a story that he held the horses of gentlemen 
who came to the play. Soon associated with a 
company of players, Lord Strange’s men. He 
probably acted at the Rose, The Curtain, New¬ 
ington Butts, and at the play-house called The 


VI 


Twelfth Night 


Theatre. He was acting and revising and com¬ 
posing plays, no doubt. 

1592 Attacked by Robert Greene in print. The ar¬ 
ticle shows the jealousy of Greene and the prog¬ 
ress Shakespeare had made as a player and 
writer. In this period, Shakespeare wrote two 
important narrative poems, Vernes and Adonis 
and The Rape of Lucrece. 

The Folrth Decade 1594-1604 
By 1596 Shakespeare was able to help his father fi¬ 
nancially. 

1596 Hamnet, the only son died. 

1597 Bought the largest house in Stratford. 

1598 Francis Meres made a list of the plays by 
Shakespeare which were successful and pop¬ 
ular. 

1599 Shakespeare was a stockholder in the Globe 
Theatre. Engaged in lawsuits and the in¬ 
vestment of money. 

1601 His father died. 

1602 Shakespeare bought 107 acres of land adr 
joining his estate in Stratford. 

This is a period of great literary activity. Shakes¬ 
peare’s Sonnets were written in this decade. Plays as 
follows were written and produced: 

1590-92 Henry the Sixth, all parts; 

1590-91 A Comedy of Errors; 

1590- 91 Loves Labours Lost; 

1591- 92 Two Gentlemen of Verona; 

1592- 93 Richard the Third; 

1592- 93 King John; 

1593- 94 Titus Andronicus; 

1593- 94 A Midsummer Night's Drqam; 

1594- 97 Romeo and Juliet; 

1594-95 Richard the Second; 

1594-96 The Merchant of Venice; 


Twelfth Night 


vii 


1596- 97 The Taming of the Shrew; 

1597- 98 King Henry the Fourth; 

1598- 99 The Merry Wives of Windsor; 

1599 King Henry the Fifth; 

1599 Much Ado About Nothing; 

1599- 1600 As You Like It; 

1599-1600 Julius Caesar; 

1601 TWELFTH NIGHT; 

1602-04 Hamlet; 

1602-04 All’s Well that Ends Well; 

1603 Measure for Measure; 

1604 Othello . 

The Fifth Decade 1604-1614 
Plays continued: 

1605-06 King Lear; 

1606 Macbeth; 

1607-08 Anthony and Cleopatra; 

1607-08 Timon of Athens; 

1607-08 Pericles; 

1609 Coriolanus; 

1610 Cymbeline; 

1611 A Winter’s Tale; 

1611 The Tempest; 

1612 King Henry the Eighth. 

Shakespeare’s mother died in 1608. 

1604 Shakespeare was living in the house of Chris¬ 
topher Mountjoy at Cripplegate. This fact was 
brought out in a lawsuit in which Shakespeare 
was a witness. In this decade Shakespeare en¬ 
gaged in lawsuits on his own account to recover 
loans. His income was good. 

1604 Shakespeare was named in a list of actors who 
were to receive a scarlet cloth to make suits for 
the royal procession through the city. These 
actors were called “grooms of the chamber.” 
1611 It is thought that Shakespeare had retired to 


Vlll 


Twelfth Night 


his estate in Stratford by this time. 

1616 Shakespeare made his will, namely in favor 01 
his daughter, Susanna Hall. 

1616 Shakespeare died. He was buried in the church 
of the Holy Trinity, Stratford. 

A review of this outline shows that the important 
facts in Shaketipeare’s life are his associations with 
the theatre. He was first a poet and then a dramatist. 
He began with comedies and plays based upon his¬ 
tory, and continued with more serious comedies and 
tragedies. He was actor, playwright, and manager. 

Aside from his main business in the theatre he was 
successful financially. He came from the country to 
London, made a name for himself and his family, 
cared for his parents, invested his money, established 
an estate in Stratford and retired there to die. 
Shakespeare’s mind and spirit is best revealed to us, 
however, through his own writings. 



THE HISTORY OF THE PLAY 


Twelfth Night was first printed in the folio of 
1623. Some of the other plays were printed in quarto 
form before they were edited for the first folio. 4 The 
present text has been compared line for line with that 
of a facsimile of the first folio. Where possible the 
punctuation of the early editors was kept. 

This play was mentioned in a diary of John Man- 
ningham, Feb. 1601-02. The list by Francis Meres 
made in 1598 does not mention this play. These 
facts help to date it. 1601 is usually given as the 
date of Twelfth Night. 

The source is not altogether certain, but students 
have noted likenesses in Italian plays and novels. 
Two Italian plays with the title, GV Iganni have been 
compared with this play. The comedy GV Igannti 
(The Deceived) contains a similar plot. A novel of 
Bandello (1480-1562) No. 28, dated 1554, was trans¬ 
lated into French by Belleforest. An English ver¬ 
sion Ayolonius and Silla was published by Barnaby 
Riche in 1581. A German play, Tugena und Liebe- 
streit, 1677 is thought to be from a play which was 
also the source of Riche’s version. A good many 

'A quarto was a book one-fourth the size of a sheet of 
printing paper. The sheet was folded twice. Since book 
paper was not always of the same size, quartos may vary. 
The size to-day is 91/2 by 12 inches. 

A folio was a book made Jby folding a sheet of book paper 
once. It was therefore, a book of the largest size. The 
first folio of Shakespeare (the first collected edition of his 
plays) was made by two friends and fellow actors, John 
Heming and Henry Oondell. This book is very rare and 
valuable, but facsimilies of it may be seen in all large 
libraries. 



X 


Twelfth Night 


scholars think Shakespeare’s main source was A'polon- 
ius and Silla. 

The play seems to have been prepared for a Twelfth 
Night celebration, that is, for the evening of the 
twelfth day after Christmas, Epiphany. The sub¬ 
title was “What you Will.” 

In the revival of Shakespeare in the Eighteenth 
century this play was popular, and it has remained 
popular wherever Shakespeare has been played and 
enjoyed. 


DRAMATIS PERSONS 1 


Orsino, Duke of Illyria. 
Sebastian, brother to Viola. 


gentlemen attending on the Duke. 


Antonio, a Sea Captain, friend to Sebastian. 

A Sea Captain, friend to Viola. 

Valentine, ^ 

Curio, J 
Sir Toby Belch^ uncle to Olivia. 

Sir Andrew Agueciieek, a foolish knight, pretending to 
Olivia. 

Malvolio, a fantastical steward to Olivia. 

Fabian, 

Feste, a Clown, 

Olivia, a, lady of great beauty and fortune, beloved by the 
Duke. 


servants to Olivia. 


Viola, in love with the Duke. 

Maria, confidante to Olivia. 

Priests, Sailors, Officers, and other attendants. 


SCENE —A city on the coast of Illyria. 
a Not in the folio; first given by Rowe. 
















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• 




r v i i 








Twelfth Night or What 
You Will 


ACT I 
Scene I 

An apartment in the Duke’s palace 

Enter Duke, Curio, and other Lords; Musicians 
attending 

Duke. If music be the food of love, play on, 

Give me excess of it: that surfeiting,* * 

The appetite may sicken, and so die. 

That strain again, it had a dying fall: 

O', it came o’er my ear, like the sweet sound 
That breathes upon a bank of violets; 

Stealing and giving odour. Enough, no more, 

’T is not so sweet now, as it was before. 

0 spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, 
That, notwithstanding thy capacity 10 

Receiveth as the sea. Nought enters there, 

Of what validity, and pitch soe’er, 

But falls into abatement, and low price, 

Even in a minute; so full of shapes is fancy, 
That it alone is high* fantastical. 1 
Curio. Will you go hunt, my lord? 

Duke. What Curio? 

Curio. The hart. 

"The text has been compared line by line with a facsimile 
of the first folio. Spelling is modernized and many capitals 
reduced; the punctuation is mainly that of the folio. 

*In the first Act only, words are starred which the pu¬ 
pil should look up in the glossary. 



2 


Twelfth Night 


lAct i 


Duke. Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: 

0 when mine eyes did see Olivia first, 

Methought 2 she purg’d* the air of pestilence; 20 

That instant was I turn’d into a hart, 

And my desires like fell and cruel hounds, 

E’er since pursue me. How now! what news 
from her? 

Enter Valentine 

Val. So please my lord, I might not be admitted; 

But from her handmaid do return this an¬ 
swer: 

The element* itself, till seven years’ heat, 3 
Shall not behold her face at ample* view: 

But, like a cloistress,* she will veiled walk, 

And water once a day her chamber round 30 
With eye-offending brine: all this to season 
A brother’s dead love, which she would keep 
fresh 

And lasting, in her sad remembrance. 

Duke. Oh, she that hath a heart of that fine 
frame 

To pay this debt of love but to a brother, 

How will she love, when the rich golden shaft 
Hath kill’d the flock of all affections else 
That live in her. When liver, brain, and 
heart, 

These sovereign thrones, are all supplied, 
and fill’d 

Her sweet perfections with one self king: 40 
Away before me, to sweet beds of flowers; 
Love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with 
bowers. Exeunt 

2 Methought, in the folio me thought, the words mean It 
seemed to me. 

3 Malone suggested that heat is a participle meaning 
heated, [for seven summers?] 



Scene II] 


Twelfth Night 


3 


Scene II 
[The Sea-coast] 1 

Enter Viola, a Captain, and Sailors 

Viola. What country (friends) is this? 

Capt. This is Illyria,* lady. 

Viola. And what should I do in Illyria? 

My brother he is in Elysium.* 

Perchance he is not drown’d: what think you, 
sailors? 

Capt. It is perchance* that you yourself were 
sav’d. 

Viola. Oh, my poor brother! and so perchance 
may he be. 

Capt. True madam, and to comfort you with 
chance, 

Assure yourself, after our ship did split, 

W r hen you, and those poor number saved with 10 
you 

Hung on our driving boat; I saw your broth¬ 
er, 

Most provident in peril, bind himself, 

(Courage and hope both teaching him the 
practice), 

To a strong mast, that liv’d upon the sea; 
Where, like Arion 2 * on the dolphin’s* back; 

I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves 
So long as I could see. 

Viola. For saying so, there’s gold: 

Mine own escape unfoldeth to my hope, 

Whereto thy speech serves for authority, 20 
The like of him. Knowest thou this country? 

'Rowe suggests a street. 

2 The folio has Orion; corrected by Pope. Could a sailor 
sit. unon a dolphin’s back? 



4 


Twelfth Night 


[Act i 


Capt . Ay, madam, well; for I was bred and born 
Not three hours’ travel from this place. 

Viola. Who governs here? 

Capt. A noble duke, in nature, as in name. 

Viola. What is his name? 

Capt. Orsino. 

Viola. Orsino! I have heard my father name him: 

He was a bachelor then. 

Capt. And so is now, or was so very late: 30 

But a month ago I went from hence, 

And then ’t was fresh in murmur as, you 
know 

What great ones do the less will prattle of, 
That he did seek the love of fair Olivia. 

Viola. What’s she? 

Capt. A virtuous maid, the daughter of a count 
That died some twelvemonth since, then leav¬ 
ing her 

In the protection of his son, her brother, 

Who shortly died: for whose dear love, 

(They say) she hath adjur’d the sight 40 

And company of men. 

Viola. 0, that I serv’d that lady, 

And might not be deliver’d to the world 
Till I had made mine own occasion* mellow, 
What my estate is. 3 

Capt. That were hard to compass; 

Because she will admit no kind of suit, 

No, not the duke’s. 

Viola. There is a fair behaviour in thee, captain, 

And though that nature, with a beauteous 
wall 

Doth oft close in pollution: yet of thee 

3 Viola seems to say, “I wish I could serve that lady un¬ 
known for awhile; until I am ready to reveal myself.” 



Scene ///] TWELFTH NIGHT 5 

I will believe thou hast a mind that suits 50 
With this thy fair and outward character. 

I prithee (and I’ll pay thee bounteously) 

Conceal me what I am, and be my aid 
For such disguise as haply shall become 
The form of my intent. I’ll serve this duke, 
Thou shalt present me as an eunuch* to him 
It may be worth thy pains: for I can sing, 

And speak to him in many sorts of music, 

That will allow me very worth his service. 

What else may hap, to time I will commit, 60 
Only shape thou thy silence to my wit. 

Capt. Be you his eunuch, and your mute* I’ll be, 
When my tongue* blabs, 4 then let mine eyes 
not see. 

Viola. I thank thee: lead me on. Exeunt 

Scene III 
Olivia’s house 1 

Enter Sir Toby, and Maria 

Sir To. What a plague means my niece, to take 
the death of her brother thus? I am sure 
care’s an enemy to life. 

Maria. By my troth Sir Toby, you must come in 
earlier o’ nights: your cousin, my lady, takes 
great exceptions to your ill hours. 

Sir To. Why, let her except before excepted. 2 

Maria. Ay, but you must confine yourself with¬ 
in the modest limits of order. 

Sir To. Confine? I’ll confine myself no finer than 10 
I am: these clothes are good enough to drink 

^Probably a dignified word when Shakespeare wrote. 

^lace suggested by Rowe, an early editor. 

2 A legal phrase which Sir Toby has heard. How would 

a drunken man say it? 



6 


Twelfth Night 


lAct i 


in, and so be these boots too: and they be 
not, let them hang themselves in their own 
straps. 

Maria. That quaffing and drinking will undo 
you: I heard my lady talk of it yesterday: 
and of a foolish knight that you brought in 
one night here to be her wooer. 

Sir To. Who, Sir Andrew Augecheek? 

Maria. Aye, he. 

Sir To. He’s as tall* a man as any ’s in Illyria. 20 

Maria. What’s that to the purpose? 

Sir To. Why, he has three thousand ducats* a 
year. 

Maria. Ay, but he’ll have but a year in all these 
ducats: he ’s a very fool and a prodigal.* 

Sir To. Fie, that you’ll say so: he plays o’ the 
violde-gamboys,* and speaks three or four 
languages word for word without book, and 
hath all the good gifts of nature. 

Maria. He hath indeed, almost natural: * 3 for be- 30 
sides that he’s a fool, he’s a greater quar- 
reller: and but that he hath the gift of a 
coward to allay the gust he hath in quar¬ 
relling, ’t is thought among the prudent he 
would quickly have the gift of a grave. 

Sir To. By this hand, they are scoundrels and 
substractors that say so of him. Who are 
they? 

Maria. They that add, 4 moreover, he’s drunk 

nightly in your company. 40 

Sir To. With drinking healths to my niece: I’ll 
drink to her as long as there is a passage in 

s Maria is punning upon the word natural. A fool was 

called a natural. 

4 Note the play upon subtractors and add. 



Scene 277] 


Twelfth Night 


7 


my throat and drink in Illyria: he’s a coward 
and a covstrill* that will not drink to my 
niece till his brains turn o’ the toe like a 
parish-top. 5 What, wench?* Caatilicmo 
vulgo ; 6 for here comes Sir Andrew Agueface. 

Enter Sir Andrew Aguecheek 

Sir An. Sir Toby Belch! how now, Sir Toby 
Belch? 

Sir To. Sweet Sir Andrew. 50 

Sir An. Bless you, fair shrew.* 

Maria. And you too, sir. 

Sir To. Accost, Sir Andrew, accost. 

Sir An. What’s that? 

Sir To. My niece’s chambermaid. 

Sir An. Good Mistress accost, I desire better 
acquaintance. 

Maria. My name is Mary, sir. 

Sir An. Good Mistress Mary, accost,— 

Sir To. You mistake, knight: 1 accost, is front 60 
her, board her, woo her, assail her. 

Sir An. By my troth, I would not undertake her 
in this company. Is that the meaning of 
accost ? 

Maria. Fare you well, gentlemen. 

Sir To. And thou let part so, Sir Andrew, would 
thou mightst never draw sword again. 

Sir An. An you part so, mistress, I would I 
might never draw sword again: Fair lady, 
do you think you have fools in hand? 70 

Maria. Sir, I have not you by the hand. 

6 The figure “turning like a top” is plain. Villages did 
keep a top to be whipped or spun. 

. 6 The editors make little of this phrase; two pages in the 
Variorium edition do not explain it. We suspect Sir Toby 
did not know what he meant. 



8 


Twelfth Night 


[Act I 


Sir An. Marry, but you shall have, and here’s 
my hand. 

Maria. Now sir, thought is free: I pray you, 
bring your hand to the butter-bar and let it 
drink. 

Sir An. Wherefore (sweet-heart?) what’s your 
metaphor? 

Maria. It’s dry, sir. 

Sir An. Why, I think so: I am not such an ass, 80 
but I can keep my hand dry. But what’s 
your jest? 

Maria. A dry jest, sir. 

Sir An. Are you full of them? 

Maria. Ay, sir, I have them at my fingers’ ends: 
marry,* now I let go your hand, I am barren. 

Exit 

Sir To. 0 knight, thou lackest a cup of canary: 
when did I see thee so put down? 

Sir An. Never in your life, I think; unless you 90 
see canary put me down. Methinks some¬ 
times I have no more wit than a Christian 
or an ordinary man has: but I am a great 
eater of beef, and I believe that does harm 
to my wit. 

Sw To. No question. 

Sir An. An I thought that, I’d forswear it. I’ll 
ride home to-morrow, Sir Toby. 

Sir To. Pourquoi ,* my dear knight? 

Sir An. What is pourquoi? Do or not do? 100 
I would I had bestowed that time in the 
tongues that I have in fencing, dancing, and 
bear-baiting: had I but followed the arts! 

Sir To. Then hadst thou had an excellent head 
of hair. 

Sir An. Why, would that have mended my hair? * 


Scene III ] 


Twelfth Night 


9 


Sir To. Past question; for thou seest it will not 
curl by 7 8 9 nature. 

Sir An. But it becomes me well enough, dost 

not? 110 

Sir To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaff: 
and I hope to see a housewife take thee and 
spin it off. 

Sir An. Faith, I’ll home to-morrow, Sir Toby: 
your niece will not be seen; or, if she be, 
it’s four to one she’ll none of me: the count 
himself here hard by, woos her. 

Sir To. She’ll none o’ the count, she’ll not match 
above her degree, neither in estate, years, 
nor wit: I have heard her swear’t. Tut, 120 
there’s life in ’t man. 

Sir An. I’ll stay a month longer. I am a fel¬ 
low o’ the strangest mind i’ the world: I de¬ 
light in masques and revels sometimes al¬ 
together. 

Sir To. Art thou good at these kickshaws,* 
knight? 

Sir An. As any man in Illyria, whatsoever he 
be, under the degree of my betters, and yet 
I will not compare with an old man. 130 

Sir To. What is thy excellence in a galliard,* 
knight? 

Sir An. Faith, I can cut a caper. 

Sir To. And I can cut the mutton to’t. 0 


7 Theobald emendation; perhaps, too, tongue was pro* 
nounced like tong; hence a pun. The folio text has “cool 
my nature.” 

8 Kickshaws from French qulque chore, freely, meaning 
trifles. 

9 Catch the pun here. Capers were eaten with boiled 
mutton. 



10 


Twelfth Night 


[Act I 


Sir An. And I think I have the back-trick sim¬ 
ply as strong as any man in Illyria. 

Sir To. Wherefore are these things hid? where 
fore have these gifts a curtain before ’em? 
are they like to take dust, like Mistress Mall’s ,D 
pictures? why dost thou not go to church in 140 
a galliard and come home in a coranto?* My 
very walk should be a jig. What dost thou 
mean? Is it a world to hide virtues in? I 
did think, by the excellent constitution of thy 
leg, it was formed under a star of a galliard. 

Sir An. Ay, ’t is strong, and it does indifferent 
well in a dam’d-coloured stock. 1 ' Shall we 
set about some revels? 

Sir To. What shall we do else? were we not born 

under Taurus? 150 

Sir An. Taurus!* That’s sides and heart. 

Sir To. No, sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me 
see thee caper. Ha! higher: ha, ha! ex¬ 
cellent ! Exeunt 


Scene IV 
The Duke’s palace 1 

Enter Valentine, and Viola in man’s attire 

Val. If the duke continue these favours towards 
you, Cesario, you are like to be much ad¬ 
vanced, he hath known you but three days, 
and already you are no stranger. 

Viola. You either fear his humour, or my negli- 

10 An allusion to a famous woman of the time in thieves 
wills, one Moll Cutpurse. 

“Flame-coloured is Rowe’s suggestion; the text has dam- 
coloured, and no one knows what it means. 

*Rowe. 



Scene IV ] 


Twelfth Night 


11 


gence, that you call in question the continu¬ 
ance of his love: is he inconstant, sir, in his 
favours ? 

Val. No, believe me. 

Enter Duke, Curio, and Attendants 
Viola. I thank you. Here comes the count. 

Duke. Who saw Cesario, ho? 10 

Viola. On your attendance, my lord here. 

Duke. Stand you a while aloof.—Cesario, 

Thou know’st no less but all; I have unclasp’d 
To thee the book even of my secret soul. 
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto 
her; 

Be not denied access, stand at her doors, 

And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow 
Till thou have audience. 

Viola. Sure my noble lord, 

If she be so abandon’d to her sorrow 
As it is spoke, she never will admit me. 20 
Duke. Be clamorous, and leap all civil bounds 
Rather than make unprofited return. 

Viola. Say I do speak with her, my lord, what 
then? 

Duke. 0, then, unfold the passion of my love, 
Surprise her with discourse of my dear faith; 

It shall become thee well to act my woes: 

She will attend it better in thy youth 
Than in a nuncio’s* of more grave aspect. 

Viola. I think not so, my lord. 

Duke. Dear lad, believe it; 

For they shall yet belie thy happy years, 30 
That say thou art a man: Diana’s* lip 
Is not more smooth and rubious; thy small 
pipe 

Is as the maiden’s organ, shrill and sound; 

And all is semblative a woman’s part. 


12 


Twelfth Night 


lAct i 


I know thy constellation* is right apt 2 
For this affair: some four or five attend 
him, 

All, if you will: for I myself am best 
When least in company;—prosper well in this, 

And thou shalt live as freely as thy lord, 

To call his fortunes thine. 

Viola. I’ll do my best 40 

To woo your lady: yet, a barful strife, 

Whoe’er I woo, myself would be his wife. 3 

Exeunt 

Scene V 

Olivia’s house 1 

Enter Maria and Clown 

Maria. Nay, either tell me where thou hast been, 
or I will not open my lips so wide as a bristle 
may enter in way of thy excuse: my lady will 
hang thee for thy absence. 

Clown. Let her hang me: he that is well hanged 
in this world needs to fear no colours.* 

Maria. Make that good. 

Clown. He shall see none to fear. 

Maria. A good lenten* answer: I can tell thee 

where that saying was born, of T fear no 10 
colours.’ 

Clown. Where, good Mistress Mary? 

Maria. In the wars; and that may you be bold 
to say in your foolery. 

2 1 know that the stars which govern your fortunes are 
right for this affair. Perhaps she was born under a lucky 
star. 

3 If Viola follows the Duke out the last lines of her speech 
can be said to the audience without the Duke’s hearing. 

HPlace, by Rowe here. No stage direction needed. 



Scene V ] 


Twelfth Night 


13 


Clown. Well, God give them wisdom that have 
it: and those that are fools, let them use 
their talents. 

Maria. Yet you will be hang’d for being so long 
absent, or to be turn’d away: is not that as 
good as a hanging to you? 

Clown. Many a good hanging prevents a bad 

marriage: and, for turning away, let sum- 20 
mer bear it out. * 2 

Maria. You are resolute, then? 

Clown. Not so neither, but I am resolved on two 
points.* 

Maria. That if one break, the other will hold: or, 
if both break, your gaskins* fall. 

Clown. Apt, in good faith; very apt: well, go thy 
way; if Sir Toby would leave drinking, thou 
wert as witty a piece of Eve’s flesh as any in 
Illyria. 3 

Maria. Peace,* you rogue, no more o’ that. Here 30 
comes my lady: make your excuse wisely, 
you were best. Exit 

Enter Lady Olivia with Malvolio 

Clown. Wit, an ’t be thy will, put me into good 
fooling: those wits that think they have thee 
do very oft prove fools: and I, that am sure 
I lack thee, may pass for a wise man. For 
what says Quinapalus, ‘better a witty fool 
than a foolish wit.’ 

God bless thee, lady. 

Oliv. Take the fool away. 

^Possibly he means “If I am to be turned away, summer 

is a good time for that.” 

3 The clown knows that Sir Toby has made love to Maria, 

therefore, he teases her about Sir Toby. 



14 


Twelfth Night 


[Act i 


Clown. Do you not hear, fellows, take away the 
lady. 

Oliv. Go to, you ’re a dry fool: I’ll no more of 
you: besides, you grow dishonest. 

Clown. Two faults, madonna, that drink and good 
counsel will amend: for give the dry fool 
drink, then is the fool not dry: bid the dis¬ 
honest man mend himself; if he mend, he is 
no longer dishonest; if he cannot, let the 
botcher* mend him: anything that’s mended 
is but patch’d: virtue that transgresses is 
but patch’d with sin: and sin that amends is 
but patch’d with virtue. If that this simple 
syllogism will serve, so: if it will not, what 
remedy? As there is no true cuckold but ca¬ 
lamity, so beauty ’s a flower. The lady bade 
take away the fool; therefore, I say again, 
take her away. 

Oliv. Sir, I bade them take away you. 

Clown. Misprision in the highest degree! Lady, 
cucullus non facit monachum; 4 that’s as much 
to say as I wear not motley in my brain. 
Good madonna, give me leave to prove you a 
fool. 

Oliv. Can you do it? 

Clown. Dexteriously, good madonna. 

Oliv. Make your proof. 

Clown. I must catechise you for it, madonna. 
Good my mouse of virtue, answer me. 

Oliv. Well, sir, for want of other idleness, I’ll 
bide your proof. 

Clown. Good madonna, why mournest thou? 

Oliv. Good fool, for my brother’s death. 

Clown. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 


40 

50 

60 

70 


‘The cowl does not make the monk. 



Scene V ] TWELFTH NIGHT 

Oliv. I know his soul is in heaven, fool. 

Clown. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for 
your brother’s soul being in heaven. Take 
away the fool, gentlemen. 

Oliv. What think you of this fool, Malvolio, doth 
he not mend? 

Mai. Yes, and shall do till the pangs of death 
shake him: infirmity, that decays the wise, 
doth ever make the better fool. 

Clown. God send you, sir, a speedy infirmity for 
the better increasing your folly: Sir Toby 
will be sworn that I am no fox; but he will 
not pass his word for two pence that you are 
no fool. 

Oliv. How say you to that, Malvolio? 

Mai. I marvel your ladyship takes delight in such 
a barren rascal: I saw him put down the 
other day with an ordinary fool that has no 
more brain than a stone. Look you now, 
he ’s out of his guard already; unless you 
laugh and minister occasion to him, he is 
gagg’d. I protest, I take these wise men, 
that crow so at these set kind of fools, no 
better than the fools’ zanies.* 

Oliv. Oh, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and 
taste with a distempered appetite. To be 
generous, guiltless, and of free disposition is 
to take those things for bird-bolts that you 
deem cannon bullets: there is no slander in 
an allow’d fool, 5 though he do nothing but 
rail; nor no railing in a known discreet man, 
though he do nothing but reprove. 

Clown. Now Mercury endue thee with leasing,* 
for thou speakest well of fools! 


15 

80 

90 

100 


6 A licensed fool. 



16 


Twelfth Night 


L Act l 


Re-enter Maria 

Maria. Madam, there is at the gate, a young gen¬ 
tleman, much desires to speak with you. 

Oliv. From the Count Orsino, is it? 

Maria. I know not, madam: ’t is a fair young 
man, and well attended. 

Oliv. Who of my people hold him in delay? 

Maria. Sir Toby, madam, your kinsman. 

Oliv. Fetch him off, I pray you; he speaks noth¬ 
ing but madman; fie on him. [Eorit Maria] 110 
Go you, Malvolio: if it be a suit from the 
count, I am sick or not at home; what you 
will, to dismiss it. [Exit Malvolio] Now you 
see, sir, how your fooling grows old, and 
people dislike it. 

Clown . Thou hast spoke for us, 6 madonna, as if 
thy eldest son should be a fool; whose skull 
Jove* cram with brains, for here he 7 comes. 

One of thy kin has a most weak pia mater. 

Enter Sir Toby 

Oliv. By mine honour, half drunk. What is he 

at the gate, cousin? 120 

Sir To. A gentleman. 

Oliv. A gentleman? what gentleman? 

Sir To. ’T is a gentleman here. A plague ’o 
these pickle-herring, how now, sot. 

Clown. Good Sir Toby. 

Oliv. Cousin, cousin, how have you come so early 
by this lethargy?* 

Sir To. Lechery I defy lechery: there ’s one at 
the gate. 

Oliv. Ay, marry, what is he? 130 

6 Thy son and me, as well as yourself? 

Move, that is, the Jovial Sir Toby? 



Scene V ] 


Twelfth Night 


17 


Sir To. Let him be the devil, and he will, I care 
not: give me faith, say I. Well, it’s all one. 

Exit 

Oliv. What ’s a drunken man like, fool? 

Clown. Like a drown’d man, a fool, and a mad¬ 
man: one draught above heat makes him a 
fool; the second mads him; and a third 
drowns him. 

Oliv. Go thou and see the crowner,* and let him 
sit ’o my coz; for he’s in the third degree of 
drink, he ’s drown’d: go, look after him. 

Clown. He is but mad yet, madonna, and the fool 140 
shall look to the madman. Exit 

Re-enter Malvolio 

Mai. Madam, yond young fellow swears he will 
speak with you. I told him you were sick; 
he takes on him to understand so much, and 
therefore comes to speak with you. I told 
him you were asleep; he seems to have a 
foreknowledge of that too, and therefore 
comes to speak with you. What is to be said 
to him, lady? he ’s fortified against any 
denial. 

Oliv. Tell him he shall not speak with me. 150 

Mai. Has been told so: and he says he’ll stand 
at your door like a sheriff’s post, and be the 
supporter to a bench, but he’ll speak with you. 

Oliv. What kind o’ man is he? 

Mai. Why, of mankind. 

Oliv. What manner of man? 

Mai. Of very ill manner: he’ll speak with you, 
will you or no. 8 

Oliv. Of what personage and years is he? 


Ts Malvolio witty in his punning or stupid? 



18 


Twelfth Night 


[Act l 


Mat. Not yet old enough for a man, nor young 160 
enough for a boy; as a squash* is before’t is 
a peascod,* or a codling* when’t is almost an 
apple: ’t is with him in standing water, be¬ 
tween boy and man. He is very well favoured 
and he speaks very shrewishly:* one would 
think his mother’s milk were scarce out of 
him. 

Oliv. Let him approach: call in my gentlewoman. 

Mai. Gentlewoman, my lady calls. Exit 

Re-enter Maria 

Oliv. Give me my veil: come, throw it o’er my 
face. We ’ll once more hear Orsino’s em¬ 
bassy.* 170 

[Enter Viola and Attendants] 

Viola. The honourable lady of the house, which 
is she? 

Oliv. Speak to me, I shall answer for her: your 
will. 

Viola. Most radiant, exquisite, and unmatchable 
beauty. I pray you, tell me if this be the 
lady of the house, for I never saw her: I 
would be loath to cast away my speech: for 
besides that it is excellently well penn’d, I 
have taken great pains to con* it. Good 
beauties, let me sustain no scorn; I am very 180 
comptible,* even to the least sinister* usage. 9 

Oliv. Whence came you, sir? 

Viola. I can say little more than I have studied, 
and that question ’s out of my part. Good, 

a Perhaps the ladies of the court giggled at Viola’s speech; 

therefore he said, “let me sustain no scorn, etc.” The sit¬ 
uation is amusing. 



Scene V ] 


Twelfth Night 


19 


gentle one, give me modest assurance if you 
be the lady of the house that I may proceed 
in my speech. 

Oliv. Are you a comedian? 

Viola. No, my profound* heart: and yet, by the 
very fangs of malice I swear, I am not that 
I play. Are you the lady of the house? 190 

Oliv. If I do not usurp myself, I am. 

Viola. Most certain, if you are she, you do usurp 
yourself: for what is yours to bestow is not 
yours to reserve. But this is from 10 my com¬ 
mission: I will on 11 with my speech in your 
praise, and then show you the heart of my 
message. 

Oliv. Come to what is important in ’t: I forgive 
you the praise. 

Viola. Alas, I took great pains to study it, and’t 

is poetical. 200 

Oliv. It is the more like to be feign’d, I pray 
you, keep it in. I heard you were saucy at 
my gates, and allow’d your approach rather 
to wonder at you than to hear you. If you 
be not mad, be gone: if you have reason, be 
brief: ’t is not that time of moon with me to 
make one in so skipping a dialogue. 

Maria. Will you hoist sail, sir, here lies your way. 

Viola. No, good swabber; I am to hull here a lit¬ 
tle longer. Some mollification for your 
giant, 12 sweet lady. Tell me your mind: I am 
a messenger. 210 

Oliv. Sure, you have some hideous matter to de¬ 
liver, when the courtesy of it is so fearful. 
Speak your office. 

iu Away from, outside of. 

31 Go on. 

12 A joke; Maria was small. 



20 


Twelfth Night 


[Act i 


Viola. It alone concerns your ear. I bring no 
overture of war, no taxation of homage: I 
hold the olive in my hand: my words are as 
full of peace, as matter. 

Oliv. Yet you began rudely. What are you? 
what would you? 

Viola. The rudeness that hath appear’d in me 220 
have I learn’d from my entertainment. What 
I am and what I would, are as secret as maid¬ 
enhood; to your ears, divinity; to any oth¬ 
er’s, profanation. 

Oliv. Give us the place alone: we will hear this 
divinity. [ Exeunt Maria and Attendants] 
Now, sir, what is your text? 

Viola. Most sweet lady. 

Oliv. A comfortable doctrine, and much may be 
said of it. Where lies your text? 

Viola. In O’rsino’s bosom. 230 

Oliv. In his bosom! In what chapter of his bos¬ 
om? 

Viola. To answer by the method, in the first of 
his heart. 

Oliv. 0 I have read it: it is heresy. Have you no 
more to say? 

Viola. Good madam, let me see your face. 

Oliv. Have you any commission from your lord 
to negotiate with my face? You are now out 
of your text: but we will draw the curtain 
and show you the picture. Look you, sir, 
such a one I was this present : is ’t not well 240 
done ? Unveiling 

Viola. Excellently done, if God did all. 

Oliv. ’T is in grain, 12 sir, ’t will endure wind and 
weather. 

ia In grain, that is, fast in color, dyed in grain, deep- 

seated : cf. ingrain carpet, ingrain yard, etc. 



Scene F] 


Twelfth Night 


21 


Viola. ’T is beauty truly blent, whose red and 
white 

Nature’s own sweet, and cunning hand laid 
on: 

Lady, you are the cruell’st she alive, 

If you will lead these graces to the grave 
And leave the world no copy. 

Oliv. Oh, sir, I will not be so hard-hearted: I will 250 
give out divers schedules of my beauty. It 
shall be inventoried, and every particle and 
utensil labell’d to my will: as, item, two lips, 
indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with 
lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so 
forth. Were you sent hither to praise me? 
Viola. I see you what you are, you are too proud; 

But, if you were the devil, you are fair: 

My lord and master loves you: 0, such love 
Could be but recompens’d, though you were 260 
crown’d 

The nonpareil* of beauty! 

Oliv. How does he love me? 

Viola. With adorations, fertile tears, 

With groans that thunder love, with sighs of 
fire. 

Oliv. Your lord does know my mind; I cannot 
love him: 

Yet I suppose him virtuous, know him noble, 

Of great estate, of fresh and stainless youth; 

In voices well divulg’d, 14 free, learn’d and 
valiant; 

And in dimension, and the shape of nature, 

A gracious person; but yet I cannot love 
him; 

“Of good reputation. The voices of the community- speak 

well of him, 




22 


Twelfth Night 


{Act i 


He might have took 15 his answer long ago. 270 
Viola. If I did love you in my master’s flame, 

With such a suffering, such a deadly life: 

In your denial I would find no sense; 

I would not understand it. 

Oliv. Why, what would you? 

Viola. Make me a willow cabin at your gate, 

And call upon my soul within the house; 

Write loyal cantons* of contemned love 
And sing them loud even in the dead of 
night: 

Halloo your name to the reverberate hills, 

And make the babbling gossip of the air 280 
Cry out ‘Olivia!’ Oh, you should not rest 
Between the elements of air and earth, 

But you should pity me! 

Oliv. You might do much: 

What is your parentage? 

Viola. Above my fortunes, yet my state is well: 

I am a gentleman. 

Oliv. Get you to your lord; 

I cannot love him: let him send no more; 

Unless perchance* you come to me again 
To tell me how he takes it. Fare you well: 

I thank you for your pains: spend this for me. 290 
Viola. I am no fee’d post,* lady; keep your purse: 

My master, not myself, lacks recompense. 

Love make his heart of flint that you shall 
love; 

And let your fervour, like my master’s, be 
Plac’d in contempt: farewell, fair cruelty. Exit 
Oliv. ‘What is your parentage?’ 

‘Above my fortunes, yet my state is well; 

I am a gentleman.’ I ’ll be sworn thou art; 

«Not an error in grammar in Shakespeare’s day. 



Scene V ] 


Twelfth Night 


23 


Thy tongue, thy face, thy limbs, actions, and 
spirit 

Do give thee five-fold blazon: not too fast: 

soft, soft! 300 

Unless the master were the man. How now; 
Even so quickly may one catch the plague? 
Methinks I feel this youth’s perfections 
With an invisible and subtle stealth 
To creep in at mine yes. Well, let it be. 

What ho, Malvolio! 

Enter Malvolio 

Mai. Here, madam, at your service. 

Oliv. Run after that same peevish messenger, 

The county’s* man: he left this ring behind 
him, 

Would I or not: tell him I ’ll none of it. 

Desire him not to flatter* with 16 his lord, 310 
Nor hold him up with hopes; I’m not for him: 

If that the youth will come this way to¬ 
morrow, 

I ’ll give him reasons for ’t: hie thee, Mal¬ 
volio. 

Mai. Madam, I will. Exit 

Oliv. I do I know not what, and fear to find 

Mine eye too great a flatterer for my mind. 
Fate, show thy force: ourselves we do not 
owe;* 

What is decreed must be, and be this so. Exit 

' lu ”to flatter with,” suggests that both lord and servant 
might interchange or exchange flattery. The expression is 
akin to “to joke with,” tell him not to exchange flattery 
with his lord, nor hold him up with hopes. Do not sooth his 
fears nor arouse his hopes. 



ACT II 


Scene I 
The Sea-coast 1 

Enter Antonio and Sebastian 

Ant. Will you stay no longer? nor will you not 
that I go with you? 

Seb. By your patience, no: my stars shine darkly 
over me: the malignancy of my fate, might 
perhaps distemper yours; therefore I shall 
crave of you your leave that I may bear my 
evils alone. It were a bad recompense for 
your love, to lay any of them on you. 

Ant. Let me yet know of you, whither you are 

bound. 10 

Seb. No, sooth, sir: my determinate voyage is 
mere extravagancy. But I perceive in you so 
excellent a touch of modesty that you will 
not extort from me what I am willing to keep 
in; therefore it charges me in manners the 
rather to express myself. You must know 
of me then, Antonio, my name is Sebastian, 
which I called Roderigo. My father was that 
Sebastian of Messaline, whom I know you 
have heard of. He left behind him, myself, 
and a sister, both born in an hour: if the 
heavens had been pleased, would we had so 20 
ended. But you, sir, altered that, for some 
hour before you took me from the breach of 
the sea was my sister drowned. 

Ant. Alas the day! 

""‘The street, Rowe; the seacoast, Capel (1701). 


Scene /] 


Twelfth Night 


25 


Seb. A lady, sir, though it was said she much 
resembled me, was yet of many accounted 
beautiful: but, though I could not with such 
estimable wonder overfar believe that, yet 
thus far I will boldly publish her, she bore a 
mind that envy could not but call fair. She 
is drowned already, sir, with salt water, 30 
though I seem to drown her remembrance 
again with more. 

Ant. Pardon me sir, your bad entertainment. 

Seb. 0 good Antonio, forgive me your trouble. 

Ant. If you will not murder me for my love, let 
me be your servant. 

Seb. If you will not undo what you have done, 
that is, kill him whom you have recovered, 
desire it not. Fare ye well at once, my bos¬ 
om is full of kindness, and I am yet so 
near the manners of my mother, that upon the 40 
least occasion more mine eyes will tell tales 
of me: I am bound to the Count Orsino’s 
court, farewell. Exit 

Ant. The gentleness of all the gods go with thee: 

I’ve many enemies in Orsino’s court, 

Else would I very shortly see thee there. 

But, come what may, I do adore thee so, 

That danger shall seem sport, and I will go. 

Exit 


26 


Twelfth Night 


[Ac£ II 


Scene II 
A street 1 

Enter Viola, Malvolio following 

Mai. Were not you even now with the Countess 
Olivia? 

Viola. Even now, sir, on a moderate pace, I have 
since arrived but hither. 

Mai. She returns this ring to you (sir) you 
might have saved me my pains, to have tak¬ 
en it away yourself. She adds moreover, 
that you should put your lord into a desper¬ 
ate assurance, she will none of him. And 
one thing more, that you be never so hardy 
to come again in his affair, unless it be to 10 
report your lord’s taking of this: receive it 
so. 2 

Viola. She took the ring of me, I ’ll none of it. 

Mai. Come, sir, you peevishly threw it to her: 
and her will is, it should be so returned: if it 
be worth stooping for, there it lies in your 
eye; if not, be it his that finds it. Exit 

Viola. I left no ring with her: what means this 
lady? 

Fortune forbid my outside have not charm’d 
her: 

She made good view of me, indeed, so much, 

That sure methought her eyes had lost her 20 
tongue, 

For she did speak in starts distractedly. 

She loves me, sure; the cunning of her pas¬ 
sion 

m the first act, words to be looked up in the glossary 
were starred. Hereafter, they are not. 

‘Capel. The folio did not name the location of scenes- 
3 Is there any suggestion that Malvolio is out of breath? 



Scene //] 


Twelfth Night 


27 


Invites me in this churlish messenger: 

None of my lord’s ring? why, he sent her 
none; 

I am the man: if it be so, as ’t is, 

Poor lady, she were better love a dream: 
Disguise, I see thou art a wickedness, 

Wherein the pregnant enemy does much. 

How easy is it for the proper-false 3 

In women’s waxen hearts to set their forms: 30 

Alas, 0 frailty is the cause, not we, 

For such as we are made of, such we be. 

How will this fadge? my master loves her 
dearly, 

And I (poor monster) fond as much on him: 

And she (mistaken) seems to dote on me: 

What will become of this? As I am man, 

My state is desperate for my master’s love: 

As I am woman (now alas the day) 

What thriftless sighs shall poor Olivia 
breathe? 

O Time! thou must untangle this, not I, 40 

It is too hard a knot for me t’ untie. 

Scene III 
Olivia’s house 1 

Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew 

Sir To. Approach, Sir Andrew: not to be a-bed 
after midnight is to be up betimes, and dilu- 
culo surgere , 2 thou knowest. 

3 How easy is it for imitations to set its forms in wom¬ 
ens’ hearts. 

Tiowe. 

a See glossary. 



28 Twelfth Night l Act 11 

Sir An. Nay, by my troth, I know not: but I 
know to be up late, is to be up late. 

Sir To. A false conclusion: I hate it as an unfilled 
can. To be up after midnight and to go to 
bed then, is early: so that to go to bed after 
midnight is to go to bed betimes. Does not 
our lives 3 consist of the four elements? 10 

Sir An. Faith, so they say, but I think it rather 
consists of eating and drinking. 

Sir To. Thou ’rt a scholar; let us therefore eat 
and drink. Marian, I say, a stoup of wine. 

Enter Clown 

Sir An. Here comes the fool, i’ faith. 

Clown. How now, my hearts: did you never see 
the picture of ‘we three’ ? 

Sir To. Welcome, ass, now let’s have a catch. 

Sir An. By my troth, the fool has an excellent 

breast. I had rather than forty shillings I 20 
had such a leg, and so sweet a breath to sing, 
as the fool has. In sooth, thou wast in very 
gracious fooling last night, when thou spokest 
of Pigrogromitus, of the Vapians passing the 
equinoctial of Queubus: ’t was very good, i’ 
faith. I sent thee sixpence for thy leman, 
hadst it? 

Clown. I did impeticos thy gratillity: for Mal- 
volio’s nose is no whipstock. My lady has a 
white hand, and the Myrmidons are no bottle- 
ale houses. 30 

Sir An. Excellent: why this is the best fooling, 
when all is done. Now, a song. 


3 Lives for life may be an error; or Sir Toby may have 

been careless in grammar. Sir Andrew seems more careful, 



Scene III ] 


Twelfth Night 


29 


Sir To. Come on, there is sixpence for you. Let’s 
have a song. 

Sir An. There’s a testril of me too: if one knight 
give a— 

Clown. Would you have a love-song, or a song of 
good life? 

Sir To. A love-song, a love song. 

Sir An. Ay, ay. I care not for good life. 40 

Cloivn. sings. 

O mistress mine where are you roaming? 

Oh, stay and hear, your true love’s coming, 

That can sing both high and low. 

Trip no further, pretty sweeting, 

Journeys end in lovers meeting, 

Every wise man’s son doth know. 

Sir An. Excellent good, i’ faith. 

Sir To. Good, good. 

Clown. sings. 

What is love, ’t is not hereafter, 

Present mirth hath present laughter: 50 

What’s to come is still unsure. 

In delay there lies no plenty, 

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty: 

Youth’s a stuff will not endure. 

Sir An. A mellifluous 4 voice, as I am true knight. 

Sir To. A contagious breath. 

Sir An. Very sweet and contagious, i’ faith. 

Sir To. To hear by the nose, it is dulcet in con¬ 
tagion. But shall we make the welkin dance 
indeed? Shall we rouse the night-owl in a 
catch, that will draw three souls out of one 60 
weaver? shall we do that? 

Sir An. An you love me, let’s do’t: I am dog at a 
catch. 

"Perhaps Sir An. means melodious? Mellifluous will serve, 
however. But contagious does not fit well. A contagious 
breath was meant to suggest a captivating voice. 



30 


Twelfth Night 


lAct II 


Clown. By ’r lady, sir, and some dogs will catch 
well. 

Sir An. Most certain. Let our catch be, ‘Thou 
knave.’ 

Clown. ‘Hold thy peace, thou knave,’ knight. I 
shall be constrained in ’t to call thee knave, 
knight. 

Sir An. ’T is not the first time I have constrained 

one to call me knave. Begin, fool: it begins 70 
‘Hold thy peace.’ 

Clown. I shall never begin if I hold my peace. 

Sir An. Good, i’ faith: Come, begin. Catch sung 
Enter Maria 

Maria. What a caterwauling do you keep here? 

If my lady have not called up her steward 
Malvolio and bid him turn you out of doors, 
never trust me. 

Sir To. My lady’s a Cataian, we are politicians, 
Malvolio’s a Peg-a-Ramsey, and ‘Three merry 
men be we.’ Am I not consanguineous? Am 
I not of her blood? Tillyvally. Lady, ‘There 80 
dwelt a man in Babylon, lady, lady.’ 

Clown. Beshrew me, the knight’s in admirable 
fooling. 

Sir An. Ay, he does well enough if he be dis¬ 
posed, and so do I too: he does it with a bet¬ 
ter grace, but I do it more natural. 

Sir To. ‘Oh, the twelfth day of December,’— 

Maria. For the love o’ God, peace. 

Enter Malvolio 

Mai. My masters, are you mad? or what are you? 90 
Have you not wit, manners, nor honesty, but 
to gabble like tinkers at this time of night? 

Do ye make an alehouse of my lady’s house, 
that ye squeak out your coziers’ catches with- 


Beene III ] 


Twelfth Night 


31 


out any mitigation or remorse of voice? Is 
there no respect of place, persons, nor time 
in you? 

Sir To. We did keep time, sir, in our catches. 
Sneck up. 

Mai. Sir Toby, I must be round with you. My 

lady bade me tell you that, though she har- 100 
bours you as her kinsman, she ’s nothing 
allied to your disorders. If you can separate 
yourself and your misdemeanors, you are 
welcome to the house: if not, and it would 
please you to take leave of her, she is very 
willing to bid you farewell. 

Sir To. ‘Farewell, dear heart, since I must needs 
be gone.’ 5 

Maria. Nay, good Sir Toby. 

Clown. ‘His eyes do show his days are almost 

done.’ 110 

Mai. Is ’t even so? 

Sir To. ‘But I will never die/ 

Clown. Sir Toby, there you lie. 

Mai. This is much credit to you. 

Sir To. ‘Shall I bid him go?’ 

Clown. ‘What an if you do?’ 

Sir To. ‘Shall I bid him go, and spare not?’ 

Clown. ‘Oh, no, no, no, no, you dare not!’ 

Sir To. Out o’ tune, sir, ye lie: Art any more 

than a steward? Dost thou think, because 120 
thou art virtuous, there shall be no more 
cakes and ale? 

Clown. Yes, by St. Anne, and ginger shall be hot 
i’ the mouth too. 

5 Tlie folio does not print the speeches as parts of a song 

until we reach ‘But I will never die.’ The clown and Sir 

Toby were singing a song which was printed by Robert 

Jones in 1601. 



32 


Twelfth Night 


[Act II 


Sir To. Thou Tt i’ the right. Go, sir, rub your 
chain 6 with crumbs. A stoup of wine, Maria. 

Mai. Mistress Mary, if you prize my lady’s fa¬ 
vour at any thing more than contempt, you 
would not give means for this uncivil rule; 
she shall know of it, by this hand. Exit 

Maria. Go shake your ears. 130 

Sir An. ’T were as good a deed as to drink when 
a man’s a^hungry, to challenge him the field, 
and then to break promise with him and 
make a fool of him. 

Sir To. Do ’t, knight, I’ll write thee a challenge: 
or I’ll deliver thy indignation to him by word 
of mouth. 

Maria. Sweet Sir Toby, be patient for tonight: 
since the youth of the count’s was to-day 
with my lady, she is much out of quiet. For 
Monsieur Malvolio, let me alone with him: if 140 
I do not gull him into a nayword and make 
him a common recreation, do not think I have 
wit enough to lie straight in my bed: I know 
I can do it. 

Sir To. Possess us, possess us; 7 tell us something 
of him. 

Maria. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of 
puritan. 

Sir An. Oh, if I thought that, I’d beat him like a 
dog! 

Sir To. What, for being a puritan? thy exquisite 150 
reason, dear knight. 

Sir An. I have no exquisite reason for ’t, but I 
have reason good enough. 

6 His claim was his badge of office; it could be polished 

with crumbs. 

7 Put us into possession of the secret. 



IScene III ] 


Twelfth Night 


33 


Maria. The devil a puritan that he is, or any 
thing constantly, but a time-pleaser, an affec- 
tioned ass, that cons state without book and 
utters it by great swarths: the best persuaded 
of himself: so crammed (as he thinks) with 
excellencies that it is his grounds of faith that 
all that look on him, love him: and on that 160 
vice in him, will my revenge find notable 
cause to work. 

Sir To. What wilt thou do? 

Maria. I will drop in his way some obscure 
epistles of love, wherein, by the colour of his 
beard, the shape of his leg, the manner of his 
gait, the expressure of his eye, forehead, and 
complexion, he shall find himself most feel¬ 
ingly personated. I can write very like my 
lady your niece; on a forgotten matter we 
can hardly make distinction of our hands. 170 

Sir To. Excellent, I smell a device. 8 

Sir An. I have ’t in my nose too. 

Sir To. He shall think by the letters that thou 
wilt drop that they come from my niece, and 
that she ’s in love with him. 

Maria. My purpose is indeed a horse of that 
colour. 

Sir An. And your horse now would make him an 
ass. 

Maria. Ass, I doubt not. 

Sir An. Oh, ’t will be admirable. 

Maria. Sport royal I warrant you: I know my 
physic will work with him. I will plant you 
two, and let the fool make a third, where he 
shall find the letter: observe his construction 


‘ x .smell a device,” means I sense a plan or trick. The 
figure of speech involved is related to hunting with hounds. 



34 


Twelfth Night 


[Act II 


of it: for this night, to bed, and dream on the 
event: Farewell. Exit. 

Sir To. Good-night, Penthesilea. 0 

Sir An. Before me, she’s a good wench. 

Sir To. She ’s a beagle, true-bred, and one that 

adores me: what o’ that? 190 

Sir An. I was adored once too. 

Sir To. Let ’s to bed, knight. Thou hadst need 
send for more money. 

Sir An. If I cannot recover your niece, I am a 
foul way out. 

Sir To. Send for money, knight; if thou hast her 
not i’ the end, call me cut. 9 10 

Sir An. If I do not, never trust me, take it how 
you will. 

Sir To. Come, come, I ’ll go burn some sack; ’t is 200 
too late to go to bed now: come, knight; 
come, knight. Exeunt. 


Scene IV 
The Duke’s palace 

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio and others 

Duke. Give me some music. Now, good morrow, 
friends. 

Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song, 

That old and antique song we heard last 
night; 

Methought it did relieve my passion much, 
More than light airs and recollected terms 
Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. 
Come, but one verse. 

9 Queen of the Amazons, slain by Schiller. Would you 
call Maria an Amazon? 

“Possibly an undesirable horse. 



Scene IV] 


Twelfth Night 


35 


Curio. He is not here (so please your lordship) 
that should sing it. 

Duke. Who was it? 10 

Curio. Feste, the jester, my lord; a fool that the 
lady Olivia’s father took much delight in. 

He is about the house. 

Duke. Seek him out, and play the tune the while. 

Music plays. 

Come hither boy; if ever thou shalt love, 

In the sweet pangs of it, remember me; 

For such as I am, all true lovers are, 

Unstaid and skittish in all motions else, 

Save in the constant image of the creature 
That is belov’d. How dost thou like this 

tune? 20 

Viola. It gives a very echo to the seat 
Where Love is throned. 

Duke. Thou dost speak masterly: 

My life upon’t, young though thou art, thine 
eye 

Hath stay’d upon some favor that it loves: 

Hath it not, boy? 

Viola. A little, by your favour. 

Duke. What kind of woman is ’t? 

Viola. Of your complexion. 1 

Duke. She is not worth thee, then. What years, 
i’ faith? 

Viola. About your years, my lord. 

Duke. Too old, by heaven: let still 2 the woman take 30 
An elder than herself, so wears she to him; 

So sways she level in her husband’s heart: 

For boy, however we do praise ourselves, 

Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, 

"This word does not refer to color; it may be translated 
temperament. 

2 still —always. 



36 


Twelfth Night 


{Act li 


More longing, wavering, sooner lost and worn, 
Than women’s are. 

Viola. I think it well, my lord. 

Duke. Then let thy love be younger than thyself 
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent: 

For women are as roses, whose fair flower, 
Being once display’d, doth fall that very 

hour. 40 

Viola. And so they are: alas, that they are so; 

To die even when they to perfection grow. 

Enter Curio and Clown 

Duke. 0 fellow, come, the song we had last night: 
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain; 

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun 
And the free maids that weave their thread 
with bones * 3 

Do use to chant it: it is silly sooth, 4 
And dallies with the innocence of love, 

Like the old age. 5 

Cloum. Are you ready, sir? 50 

Duke. I prithee, sing. Music. 

THE SONG 

Come away, come away, death, 

And in sad cypress let me be laid. 

Fly away, fly away, breath, 

I am slain by a fair, cruel maid: 

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 

Oh, prepare it. 

My part of death, no one so true did share it. 

Not a flower, not a flower sweet 

On my black coffin, let there be strown: 60 

“Possibly maidens who knit lace with a bone bobbin as 

they sing. 

4 Plain, simple truth. 

“Ancient times. 



Scene IV] 


Twelfth Night 


37 


Not a friend, not a friend greet 

My poor corpse, where my bones shall be 
thrown: 

A thousand thousand sighs to save, lay me, 
oh, where 

Sad true lover never find my grave, 
to weep there. 

Duke. There’s for thy pains. 

Clown. No pains, sir; I take pleasure in singing, 
sir. 

Duke. I ’ll pay thy pleasure then. 70 

Clown. Truly sir, and pleasure will be paid, one 
time or another. 

Duke. Give me now leave to leave thee. 

Clown. Now the melancholy God 6 protect thee; 
and the tailor make thy doublet of changeable 
taffeta, for thy mind is a very opal. I would 
have men of such constancy put to sea, that 
their business might be every thing and their 
intent every where; for that’s it that always 
makes a good voyage of nothing. Farewell. 80 

Exit. 

Duke. Let all the rest give place. 7 Once more, 
Cesario, 

Get thee to yond same sovereign cruelty: 

Tell her, my love, more noble than the world, 
Prizes not quantity of dirty lands: 

The parts that fortune hath bestow’d upon 
her: 

Tell her, I hold as giddily as Fortune: 

6 The clown may have no particular god in mind. The 
joke may consist in the suggestion that a melancholy god 
is a dark or black god. The speech emphasizes the change¬ 
ableness of the Duke. 

7 An order for the servants to leave; it may be assumed 
that they obey. 




38 


Twelfth Night 


[Act II 


But’t is that miracle and queen of gems 
That nature pranks 6 * 8 her in attracts my soul. 
Viola. But if she cannot love you, sir. 9 
Duke. It cannot be so answer’d. 10 
Viola. Sooth, but you must. 90 

Say that some lady, as perhaps there is, 

Hath for your love as great a pang of heart 
As you have for Olivia: you cannot love her; 

You tell her so; must she not then be an¬ 
swer’d ? 

Duke. There is no woman’s sides 

Can bide the beating of so strong a passion, 

As love doth give my heart: no woman’s heart 
So big, to hold so much; they lack retention. 

Alas, their love may be call’d appetite, 

No motion of the liver, but the palate, 100 

That suffer surfeit, cloyment, and revolt; 

But mine is all as hungry as the sea 
And can digest as much: make no compare 
Between that love a woman can bear me 
And that I owe Olivia. 

Viola. Ay, but I know. 

Duke. What dost thou know? 

Viola. Too well what love women to men may owe: 

In faith, they are as true of heart as we. 

My father had a daughter loved a man, 

As it might be, perhaps, were I a woman, 110 
I should your lordship. 

Duke. And what ’s her history? 


6 prank —to dress showily, or adorn. The Duke says he 

does not care for Olivia’s wealth, but for her natural qual¬ 

ities of beauty and character. 

9 Not punctuated as a question in the folio. Viola’s speech 
may be unfinished, or interrupted. 

10 It cannot be so answered, but you must be so answered, 
possibly, she cannot love you, sir. 



Scene V ] 


Twelfth Night 


39 


Viola. A blank, my lord! She never told her love, 
But let concealment, like a worm i’ the bud 
Feed on her damask cheek: she pin’d in 
thought, 

And with a green and yellow melancholy 
She sat like Patience on a monument, 11 
Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? 
We men may say more, swear more, but 
indeed 

Our shows are more than will: for still we 
prove 

Much in our vows, but little in our love. 
Duke. But died thy sister of her love, my boy? 
Viola. I’m all the daughters of my father’s house, 
And all the brothers too: and yet I know not. 
Sir, shall I to this lady? 

Duke. Ay, that ’s the theme. 

To her in haste: give her this jewel: say 
My love can give no place, bide no denay. 

Exeunt. 


Scene V 
Olivia’s garden 

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian 

Sir To. Come thy ways, Signior Fabian. 

Fab. Nay, I’ll come: if I lose a scruple of this 
sport, let me be boiled to death with melan¬ 
choly. 

Sir To. Wouldst thou not be glad to have the nig¬ 
gardly rascally sheep-biter come by some no¬ 
table shame? 

Fab. I would exult, man: you know he brought me 
“Do not overlook this often quoted simile. 


120 



40 


Twelfth Night 


[Act II 


out o’ favour with my lady about a bear- 
baiting here. 

Sir To. To anger him we’ll have the bear again; 

and we will fool him black and blue: shall we 10 
not, Sir Andrew? 

Sir An. And we do not, it’s pity of our lives. 

Enter Maria 

Sir To. Here comes the little villain. 

How now, my metal of India? 1 

Maria. Get ye all three into the box-tree: Mal- 
volio ’s coming down this walk, he has been 
yonder i’ the sun practising behavior to his 
own shadow this half hour: observe him, for 
the love of mockery: for I know this letter 
will make a contemplative idiot of him. 20 
Close, in the name of jesting, lie thou there: 
for here comes the trout that must be caught 
with tickling. Exit. 

Enter Malvolio 

Mai. ’T is but fortune; all is fortune. Maria once 
told me she did affect me, and I have heard 
herself come thus near, that, should she 
fancy, it should be one of my complexion. 
Besides, she uses me with a more exalted re¬ 
spect, than any one else that follows her. 
What should I think on ’t? 

Sir To. Here’s an overweening rogue. 

Fab. Oh, peace: 2 Contemplation makes a rare 30 
turkey-cock of him: how he jets under his ad¬ 
vanced plumes. 

Sir An. ’Slight, I could so beat the rogue. 


Precious metal. 
s O keep quiet. 



, Scene V ] 


Twelfth Night 


41 


Sir. To. Peace, I say. 

Mol. To be Count Malvolio! 

Sir To. Ah, rogue. 

Sir An. Pistol him, pistol him. 

Sir To. Peace, peace. 

Mai. There is example for ’t; the lady of the 

Strachy married the yeoman of the wardrobe. 40 

Sir An. Fie on him, Jezebel. 

Fab. Oh, peace, now he’s deeply in: look how im¬ 
agination blows him. 

Mai. Having been three months married to her, 
sitting in my state. 

Sir To. Oh, for a stone-bow, to hit him in the eye. 

Mai. Calling my officers about me, in my branched 
velvet gown: having come from a day-bed, 3 
where I have left Olivia sleeping. 

Sir To. Fire and brimstone. 50 

Fab. Oh, peace, peace. 

Mai. And then to have the humour of state; and, 
after a demure travail of regard, 4 * —telling 
them I know my place as I would they should 
do theirs, to ask for my kinsman Toby.— 

Sir To. Bolts and shackles. 

Fab. Oh, peace, peace, peace: now, now. 

Mai. Seven of my people, with an obedient start, 6 
make out for him: I frown the while; and 
perchance wind up my watch, or play with 60 
my some rich jewel. Toby approaches; cour¬ 
tesies there to me. 

Sir To. Shall this fellow live? 

Fab. Though our silence be drawn from us with 

3 Possibly from sleeping late into the day. 

4 Scanning his officers gravely one by one (Variorum note. 

p. 162). 

6 Note the transferred epithet: with a sudden start of 

obedience* 



42 


Twelfth Night 


[Act 11 


cars, yet peace. 

Mai. I extend my hand to him thus: quenching 
my familiar smile with an austere regard of 
control. 

Sir To. And does not Toby take you a blow o’ the 
lips then? 

Mai. Saying, ‘Cousin Toby, my fortunes having 70 
cast me on your niece give me this preroga¬ 
tive of speech.’ 

Sir To. What, what? 

Mai. ‘You must amend your drunkenness.’ 

Sir To. Out, scab! 

Fab. Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our 
plot? 

Mai. ‘Besides, you waste the treasure of your 
time with a foolish knight.’ 

Sir An. That ’s me, I warrant you. 80 

Mai. ‘One Sir Andrew.’ 

Sir An. I knew’t was I; for many do call me fool. 

Mai. What employment have we here? 

Taking up the letter 

Fab. Now is the woodcock near the gin. 

Sir To. Oh, peace! and the spirit of humours in¬ 
timate reading aloud to him. 6 

Mai. By my life, this is my lady’s hand: these 
be her very C’s, her U’s, and her T’s; and 
thus makes she her great P’s. It is in con¬ 
tempt of question her hand. 90 

Sir An. Her C’s, her U’s, and her T’s: why that? 

Mai. 

‘To the unknown beloved, this, and my good 
wishes:’ 

Her very phrases. By your leave, wax. Soft! 
and the impressure her Lucrece, with which 

6 May the spirit of humors suggest to him that he read it 

aloud. 



Scene V] 


Twelfth Night 


43 


she uses to seal: *t is my lady. To whom 
should this be? 

Fab. This wins him, liver and all. 

Mai. 100 

Move knows I love: 

But who? 

Lips, do not move; 

No man must know.’ 

‘No man must know.’ What follows? the 
numbers altered! 

‘No man must know; if this should be thee, 
Malvolio ? 

Sir To. Marry, hang thee, brock. 

Mai. 110 

7 may command where I adore, 

But silence, like a Lucrece knife, 

With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore, 

M, 0, A, I, doth sway my life.’ 

Fab. A fustian riddle. 

Sir To. Excellent wench, say I. 

Mai. ‘M, 0, A, I, doth sway my life.’ Nay, but 
first, let me see, let me see, let me see. 

Fab. What dish o’ poison has she dressed him? 

Sir To. And with what wing the Stallion checks 7 120 
at it? 

Mai. 7 may command where I adore.’ Why, she 
may command me: I serve her, she is my 
lady. Why, this is evident to any formal ca¬ 
pacity. There is no obstruction in this: and 
the end: what should that alphabetical posi¬ 
tion portend, if I could make that resemble 
something in me?’—Softly, M, 0, A, I. 

Sir To. 0 I make up that; he is now at a cold 
scent. 


7 Probably staniel a kind of falcon. Wing and check offer 
difficulty. See with what wing the falcon stops at it? 



44 


Twelfth Night 


lAct II 


Fab. Sowter will cry upon ’t for all this, though 
it be as rank as a fox. 8 

Mai. M. Malvolio, M. Why, that begins my 
name! 

Fab. ‘Did I not say he would work it out? the 

cur is excellent at faults. ISO 

Mai. M. But then there is no consonancy in the 
sequel that suffers under probation: A 
should follow, but 0 does. 

Fab. And 0 shall end, I hope. 

Sir To. Ay, or I’ll cudgel him, and make him 
cry 01 

Mai. And then I, comes behind. 

Fab. Ay, an you had any eye behind you, you 
might see more detraction at your heels than 
fortunes before you. 140 

Mai. M, 0, A, I. This simulation is not as the 
former: and yet, to crush this a little, it 
would bow to me, for every one of these let¬ 
ters are in my name. Soft, here follows 
prose. 

[ Reads] If this falls into thy hands, revolve. 

In my stars I am above thee; but be not 
afraid of greatness: some are become great, 
some achieve greatness, and some have great¬ 
ness thrust upon 'em. Thy Fates open their 
hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them; 
and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to 
be: cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. 150 
Be opposite with a kinsman, surly with ser¬ 
vants: let thy tongue tang arguments of 
state; put thyself into the trick of singu¬ 
larity. She thus advises thee that sighs for 

“Maivolio like a bound named Sowter a chase crys or 
barks, as if he had found a new scent, when we all know 
the joke. 



Scene V] 


Twelfth Night 


45 


thee. Remember who commended thy yellow 
stockings and wished to see thee ever cross- 
gartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou 
art made, if thou desirest to be so. If not, 
let me see thee a steward still, the fellow of 
servants, and not worthy to touch Fortune's 
fingers. Farewell. She that would alter 
services with thee, 9 

The Fortunate Unhappy 160 

Daylight and champain discovers not more: 
this is open. I will be proud, I will read 
politic authors, I will baffle Sir Toby, 

I will wash off gross acquaintance, I 
will be point-devise, the very man. I do 
not now fool myself, to let imagination jade 
me; for every reason excites to this, that 
my lady loves me. She did commend my 
yellow stockings of late, she did praise my 
leg being cross-gartered; and in this she 
manifests herself to my love, and with a 
kind of injunction drives me to these habits 
of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. 170 
I will be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, 
and cross-gartered, even with the swiftness 
of putting on. Jove and my stars be praised. 

Here is yet a postscript. 

[Reads'] Thou canst not choose but know 
who I am. If thou entertainest my love, let 
it appear in thy smiling; thy smiles be¬ 
come thee well; therefore in my presence 
still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee. 

B The folio does not break the letter here, does not change 
type, but the editors from Hanmer on have seen the close 
of the letter here. 



46 


Twelfth Night 


lAct II 


Jove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do 
everything that thou wilt have me. Exit 180 

Fab. I will not give my part of this sport for 
a pension of thousands to be paid from the 
Sophy. 10 

S ir To. I could marry this wench for this de¬ 
vice. 

Sir An. So could I too. 

Sir To. And ask no other dowry with her but 
another jest. 

Sir An. Nor I neither. 

Fab. Here comes my noble gull-catcher. 

Re-enter Maria 

Sir To. Wilt thou set thy foot o’ my neck? 

Sir An. Or o’ mine either? ^ 190 

Sir To. Shall I play my freedom at tray-trip, 11 
and become thy bond-slave? 

Sir An. I' faith, or I either? 

Sir To. Why, thou hast put him in such a 
dream that, when the image of it leaves him, 
he must run mad. 

Maria. Nay, but say true; does it work upon 
him? 

Sir To. Like aqua-vitae with a midwife. 

Maria. If you will then see the fruits of the 
sport, mark his first approach before my 
lady: he will come to her in yellow stock¬ 
ings, and ’t is a colour she abhors; and 200 
cross-gartered, a fashion she detests: and 
he will smile upon her, which will now be 
so unsuitable to her disposition, being ad¬ 
dicted to a melancholy as she is, that it can- 

lu Tiie shah of Persia. 

n Shall I play for my freedom with dice? 



Scene V ] 


Twelfth Night 


47 


not but turn him into a notable contempt. If 
you will see it, follow me. 

Sir To. To the gates of Tartar, thou most ex¬ 
cellent devil of wit! 

Sir An. I’ll make one too. Exeunt 


ACT III 


Scene I 
Olivia’s garden 1 

Enter Viola, and Clown with a tabor 

Viola. Save thee, friend, and thy music: dost 
thou live by thy tabor? 

Clown. No, sir, I live by the church. 

Viola. Art thou a churchman? 

Clown. No such matter, sir: I do live by the 
church; for I do live at my house, and my 
house doth stand by the church. 

Viola. So thou mayst say the king lies by a beg¬ 
gar, if a beggar dwell near him: or the 
church stands by thy tabor, if thy tabor 10 
stand by the church. 

Clown. You have said, sir. To see this age! 

A sentence is but a cheveril glove to a 
good wit: how quickly the wrong side may 
be turned outward! 

Viola. Nay, that’s certain; they that dally 
nicely with words may quickly make them 
wanton. 

Clown. I would, therefore, my sister had had 
no name, sir. 

Viola. Why, man ? 

Clown. Why, sir, her name’s a word; and to 20 
dally with that word might make my sister 
wanton. But indeed words are very rascals 
since bonds disgraced them. 

Trace suggested by Pope. This scene is sometimes acted 

as a part of Act II. 


( 48 ) 



Scene I] 


Twelfth Night 


49 


Viola. Thy reason, man? 

Clown. Troth, sir, I can yield you none without 
words; and words are grown false, I am 
loath to prove reason with them. 

Viola. I warrant thou art a merry fellow and 
carest for nothing. 

Clown. Not so, sir, I do care for something; 30 
but in my conscience, sir, I do not care for 
you: if that be to care for nothing, sir, I 
would it make you invisible. 

Viola. Art not thou the Lady Olivia’s fool? 

Clown. No indeed, sir; the Lady Olivia has no 
folly, she will keep no fool, sir, till she be 
married, and fools are as like husbands as 
pilchards are to herrings, the husband’s the 
bigger, I am indeed not her fool, but her 
corrupter of words. 

Viola. I saw thee late at the Count Orsino’s. 40 

Clown. Foolery, sir, does walk about the orb 
like the sun, it shines everywhere. I would 
be sorry, sir, but the fool should be as oft 
with your master as with my mistress: I 
think I saw your wisdom there. 

Viola. Nay, an thou pass upon me, I’ll no more 
with thee. Hold, there’s expenses for thee. 

Clown. Now Jove, in his next commodity of 
hair, send thee a beard! 

Viola. By my troth, I’ll tell thee I am almost 
sick for one; [Aside'] though I would not 
have it grow on my chin. Is thy lady 
within? 

Clown. Would not a pair of these have bred, 
sir? 

Viola. Yes, being kept together and put to use. 

Clown. I would play Lord Pandarus of Phrygia, 


50 


Twelfth Night 


[Act ill 


sir, to bring Cressida to this Troilus. * 2 3 4 
Viola. I understand you sir, ’t is well begged. 
Clown. The matter, I hope, is not great, sir, 
begging but a beggar: Cressida was a beg¬ 
gar. My lady is within, sir. I will con¬ 
strue to them whence you come; who you are 60 
and what would are out of my welkin, I 
might say ‘element,’ but the word is over¬ 
worn. Exit 

Viola. This fellow is wise enough to play the 
fool, 

And to do that well craves a kind of wit: 

He must observe their mood on whom he 
jests, 

The quality of persons, and the time: 

Not, like the haggard, check at every 
feather 

That comes before his eye. This a practice 
As full of labour as a wise man’s art: 

For folly that he wisely shows is fit; 

But wise men, folly-fall’n, quite taint their 
wit. 

Enter Sir Toby and Sir Andrew 
Sir. To. Save you, gentlemen. 

Viola. And you, sir. 

Sir An. Dieu vous garde, monsieur . s 

Viola. Et vous aussi; votre serviteurS 

Sir An. I hope sir, you are; and I am yours. 

Sir To. Will you encounter the house, my niece 
is desirous you should enter, if your trade 
be to her. 5 

"Reference to the old story of Troy. See Chaucer's 

Troilus and Cressida. 

3 May God guard you sir. 

4 And you also (bowing) your servant. 

•Not punctuated as a question in the folio. 





Scene /] 


Twelfth Night 


51 


Viola. I am bound to your niece sir, I mean she 80 
is the lLt of my voyage. 

Sir To. Taste your legs sir, put them in motion. 
Viola. My legs do better understand me, sir, 
than I understand what you mean by bidding 
me, taste my legs. 

Sir To. I mean to go sir, to enter. 

Viola. I will answer you with gait and en¬ 
trance, but we are prevented. 

Enter Olivia and Maria 

Most excellent accomplished lady, the 
heavens rain odours on you. 90 

Sir An. That youth’s a rare courtier: ‘Rain 
odours;’ well. 

Viola. My matter hath no voice lady, but to 
your own most pregnant and vouchsafed 
ear. 

Sir An. ‘Odours,’ ‘pregnant,’ and ‘vouchsafed:’ 

I’ll get ’em all three all ready. 

Oliv. Let the garden door be shut, and leave me 
to my hearing. Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir An¬ 
drew, and Maria. Give me your hand, sir. 
Viola. My duty, madam, and most humble ser- 100 
vice. 

Oliv. What is your name? 

Viola. Cesario is your servant’s name, fair 
princess. 

Oliv. My servant, sir! ’T was never merry 
world 

Since lowly feigning was called compliment: 
You’re servant to the Count Orsino, youth. 
Viola. And he is yours, and his must needs be 
yours: 


52 


Twelfth Night 


[Act III 


Your servant’s servant is your servant, 
madam. * 6 

Oliv. For 7 him, I think not on him: for his 110 
thoughts, 

Would they were blanks, rather than filled 
with me! 

Viola. Madam, I come to whet your gentle 
thoughts 
On his behalf. 

Oliv. Oh, by your leave, I pray you. 

I bade you never speak again of him; 

But, would you undertake another suit 
1 had rather hear you, to solicit that, 

Than music from the spheres. 

Viola. Dear Lady: 

Oliv. Give me leave beseech you: I did send, 

After the last enchantment you did here, 

A ring in chase of you. So did I abuse 120 
myself, my servant, and, I fear me, you: 

Under your hard construction must I sit, 

To force that on you, in a shameful cun¬ 
ning, 

Which you knew none of yours. What 
might you think? 

Have you not set mine honour at the stake 
And 1 baited it with all th’ unmuzzled 
thoughts 

That tyrannous heart can think? To one 
of your receiving 

Enough is shown: a cypress, 8 not a bosom, 
Hides my heart; so let me hear you speak. 

"Servant often meant lover, that is, love’s servant. Nor 

the word play here. 

7 For as for. 

"Olivia means that she has shown her heart, feelings too 
openly; cypress, a thin black lawn material. 



Scene 7 ] 


Twelfth Night 


53 


Viola. I pity you. 

Oliv. That’s a degree to love. 130 

Viola. No, not a grise 9 : for ’t is a vulgar proof 
That very oft we pity enemies. 

Oliv. Why, then, methinks ’t is time to smile 
again: 

Oh world, how apt the poor are to be proud? 

If one should be a prey, how much better 
To fall before the lion than the wolf? 

Clock strikes 

The clock upbraids me with the waste of 
time. 

Be not afraid good youth, I will not have 
you: 

And yet, when wit and youth is come to 
harvest, 

Your wife is like to reap a proper man: 140 

There lies your way, due west. 

Viola. Then westward-ho: 

Grace and good disposition attend your 
ladyship. 

You’ll nothing, madam, to my lord by me: 

Oliv. Stay: 

I prithee, tell me what thou thinkj’st of me? 
Viola. That you do think you are not what you 
are. 

Oliv. If I think so, I think the same of you. 

Viola. Then think you right: I am not what 
I am. 

Oliv. I would you were, as I would have you be. 
Viola. Would it be better, madam, than I am? 150 
I wish it might, for now I am your fool. 

Oliv. Oh, what a deal of scorn, looks beautiful? 

»Is there word play upon degree and grise? Grise means 
step or stairway. Degree, here means grade or step. 



54 


Twelfth Night 


lAct III 


In the contempt and anger of his lip 
A murderous guilt shows not itself more 
soon, 

Than love that would seem hid: love’s night, 
is noon. 

Cesario, by the roses of the spring, 

By maidenhood, honour, truth, and every 
thing, 

I love thee so, that, maugre all thy pride, 

Nor wit nor reason can my passion hide. 

Do not extort thy reasons from this clause, 160 
For that I woo, thou therefore has no 
cause: 

But rather reason thus with reason fetter; 

Love sought, is good, but given unsought, 
is better. 

Viola. By innocence I swear, and by my youth, 

I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, 

And that no woman has, nor never none 
Shall mistress be of it, save I alone. 

And so adieu, good madam, never more, 

Will I my master’s tears to you deplore. 

Oliv. Yet come again: for thou perhaps mayest 

move 170 

That heart, which now abhors, ho like his 
love. 

Exeunt 


Scene II 
Olivia’s House 

Enter Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian 

Sir An. No, faith, I’ll not stay a jot longer: 

Sir To. Thy reason, dear venom, give thy rea¬ 
son. 


Scene m 


Twelfth Night 


55 


Fab. You must needs yield your reason, Sir 
Andrew. 

Sir An. Marry, I saw your niece do more 
favours to the count’s serving-man than ever 
she bestowed upon me: I saw ’t i’ the or¬ 
chard. 1 

S^r To. Did she see thee the while, old boy, 
tell me that. 

Sir An. As plain as I see you now. 

Fab. This was a great argument of love in her 
toward you. 

Sir An. ’Slight, will you make an ass o’ me? 

Fab. I will prove it legitimate sir, upon the 
oaths of judgment and reason. 

Sir To. And they have been grand, jurymen 
since before Noah was a sailor. 

Fab. She did show favour to the youth in your 
sight only to exasperate you, to awake your 
dormouse valor, to put fire in your heart 20 
and brimstone in your liver: you should 
then have accosted her; and with some ex¬ 
cellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you 
should have banged the youth into dumbness: 
this was looked for at your hand, and this 
was balked; the double guilt of this opportun¬ 
ity you let time wash off, and you are now 
sailed into the north of my lady’s opinion, 
where you will hang like an icicle on a Dutch¬ 
man’s beard, unless you do redeem it by some 
laudable attempt either of valor or policy. 30 

Sir An. An ’t be any way, it must be with valour, 

lr The orchard was evidently the garden, or what we should 

call the garden. 




56 


Twelfth Night 


{Act III 


for policy I hate: I had as lief be a Brown- 
ist" as a politician. 

Sir To. Why then build me thy fortunes upon 
the basis of valour. Challenge me the count’s 
youth to fight with him, hurt him in eleven 
places, my niece shall take note of it; and 
assure thyself, there is no love-broker in the 
world can more prevail in man’s commenda¬ 
tion with woman than report of valour. 

Fab. There is no way but this, Sir Andrew. 40 
Sir An. Will either of you bear me a challenge 
to him? 

Sir To. Go, write it in a martial hand, be curst 
and brief: it is no matter how witty, so it 
be eloquent and full of invention: taunt him 
with the license of ink: if thou thou’st 2 3 him 
some thrice, it shall not be amiss, and as 
many lies as will lie in thy sheet of paper, al¬ 
though the sheet were big enough for the bed 
of Ware in England, 4 set ’em down, go about 
it. Let there be gall enough in thy ink, 50 
though thou write with a goose pen, no mat¬ 
ter: about it. 

Sir An. Where shall I find you? 

Sir To. We’ll call thee at the cubiculo 5 go. 

Exit Sir Andrew 
Fab. This is a dear manakin to you, Sir Toby. 

Sir To. I have been dear to him, lad, some two 
thousand strong, or so. 

2 The Brownists were dissenters from the established 
church. They followed Robert Brown, b 1550. 

3 Those were used in speaking to servants and inferiors. 

4 A famous large bed, 7 ft high, 10 ft 9 in. long, and 10 
ft. 9 in. wide. 

‘Possibly his room, or some room in Olivia’s house. 



Scene II] 


Twelfth Night 


57 


Fab. We shall have a rare letter from him; 
but you’ll not deliver ’t? 

Sir To. Never trust me, then: and by all means 
stir on the youth to an answer. I think oxen 
and wainropes cannot hale them together. 

For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find 
so much blood in his liver as will clog the 
foot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of the anatomy. 

Fab. And his opposite, the youth, bears in his 
visage no great presage of cruelty. 

Enter Maria 

Sir To. Look, where the youngest wren of nine 
comes. 8 

Maria. If you desire the spleen, and will laugh 
yourselves into stitches, follow me; yond 
gull Malvolio is turned heathen, a very rene- 70 
gado; for there is no Christian that means 
to be saved by believing rightly, can ever 
believe such impossible passages of gross¬ 
ness. He ’s in yellow stockings. 

Sir To. And cross-gartered. 

Maria. Most villainously: like a pedant that 
keeps a school i’ the church: I have dogged 
him like his murderer. He does obey every 
point of the letter that I dropped to betray 
him: he does smile his face into more lines 
than is in the new map with the augmenta- 80 
tion of the Indies: you have not seen such a 
thing as ’t is. I can hardly forbear hurling 
things at him. I know my lady will strike 
him: if she do, he’ll smile and take ’t for a 
great favour. 

Sir To. Come, bring us, bring us where he is. 

Exeunt Omnes 


•Another allusion to the small size of Maria. 



58 


Twelfth Night 


\_Act III 


Scene III 
A Street 

Enter Sebastian and Antonio 

Seb. I would not by my will have troubled you, 

But since you make your pleasure of your 
pains, 

I will no further chide you. 

Ant. I could not stay behind you: my desire, 
(more sharp than filed steel) did spur me 
forth; 

And not all love to see you (though so much 
As might have drawn one to a longer voy¬ 
age.) 10 

But jealousy, what might befall your travel, 
Being skilless in these parts; which to a 
stranger, 

Unguided and unfriended, often prove 
Rough and unhospitable. My willing love, 

The rather by these arguments of fear, 

Set forth in your pursuit. 

Seb. My kind Antonio, 

I can no other answer make but thanks, 20 

And thanks: and ever oft good turns 
Are shuffled off with such uncurrent pay: 

But, were my worth as is my conscience firm, 

You should find better dealing: What's to do? 
Shall we go see the reliques of this town? 

Ant. To-morrow, sir, best first go see your lodg¬ 
ing? 

Seb. I am not weary, and ’t is long to night: 

I pray you, let us satisfy our eyes 

With the memorials and the things of fame 30 

That do renown this city. 

Ant. Would you’d pardon me; 


Scene III ] 


Twelfth Night 


59 


I do not without danger walk these streets. 
Once, in a sea-fight, ’gainst the count his 
galleys 

I did some service, of such note indeed, 

That were I ta’en here it would scarce be 
answer’d. 

Seb. Belike you slew great number of his people. 

Ant. Th’ offence is not of such a bloody nature, 40 
Albeit the quality of the time, and quarrel 
Might well have given us bloody argument: 

It might have since been answer’d in repay¬ 
ing 

What we took from them; which, for traffic’s 
sake, 

Most of our city did: only myself stood out, 

For which, if I be lapsed in this place, 

I shall pay dear. 

Seb. Do not then walk too open. 50 

Ant. It doth not fit me. Hold, sir, here’s my 
purse. 

In the south suburbs, at the Elephant, 1 
Is best to lodge: I will bespeak our diet, 

Whiles you beguile the time and feed your 
knowledge 

With viewing of the town: there shall you 
have me. 

Seb. Why I your purse? 

Ant. Haply your eye shall light upon some toy 60 
You have desire to purchase; and your store, 

I think, is not for idle markets, sir. 

Seb. I’ll be your purse-bearer and leave you 
For an hour. 

Ant. To th’ Elephant. 

Seb. I do remember. Exeunt 


'Name of an inn. 



60 


Twelfth Night 


[.Act II) 


Scene IV 

Olivia’s garden 

Enter Olivia and Maria 

Oliv. I have sent after him, he says he’ll come: 

How shall I feast him? what bestow of him? 

For youth is bought more oft than begg’d or 
borrow’d. 

I speak too loud: 

Where is Malvolio? he is sad 1 and civil, 

And suits well for a servant with my for¬ 
tunes : 

Where is Malvolio? 

Maria. He’s coming, madam; but in very strange 10 
manner. He is, sure, possessed, madam. 

Oliv. Why, what’s the matter, does he rave? 

Maria. No, madam, he does nothing but smile: 
your ladyship were best to have some guard 
about you if he come; for, sure, the man is 
tainted in ’s wits. 

Oliv. Go, call him hither. I am as mad as he. 

If sad and merry madness equal be. 

Enter Malvolio 

How now, Malvolio? 20 

Mai. Sweet lady, ho, ho. 

Oliv. Smilest thou? 

I sent for thee upon a sad occasion. 

Mai. Sad, lady, I could be sad: this does make 
some obstruction in the blood, this cross- 
gartering, but what of that? If it please the 
eye of one, it is with me as the very true 
sonnet 2 is, ‘Please one, and please all.’ 

‘Sad—heavy, or serious here, of sad-iron, a heavy iron. 

2 A reference to a popular ballad with the refrain “Please 
one, please all.” 



Scene IV] 


Twelfth Night 


61 


Oliv. Why, how dost thou, man ? what is the 
matter with thee? 

Mai. Not black in my mind, though yellow in 
my legs. It did come to his hands, and com¬ 
mands shall be executed: I think we do know 
the sweet Roman hand. 

Oliv. Wilt thou go to bed, Malvolio? 

Mai. To bed? ay, sweet-heart, and I’ll come 
to thee. 

Oliv. God comfort thee: Why dost thou smile 
so and kiss thy hand so oft? 

Maria. How do you, Malvolio? 

Mai. At your request: yes, nightingales answer 
daws. 

Maria. Why appear you with this ridiculous 
boldness before my lady? 

Mai. ‘Be not afraid of greatness;’ ’twas well 
writ. 

Oliv. What meanest thou by that, Malvolio? 

Mai. ‘Some are born great,’ 

Oliv. Ha! 

Mai. ‘Some achieve greatness,’ 

Oliv. What sayest thou? 

Mol. ‘and some have greatness thrust upon 
them.’ 

Oliv. Heaven restore thee. 

Mol. ‘Remember who commended thy yellow 
stockings,’— 

Oliv. Thy yellow stockings? 

Mai. ‘And wished to see thee cross-garter’d.’ 

Oliv. Cross-garter’d ? 

Mai. ‘Go to, thou art made, if thou desirest to 
be so;’ 

Oliv. Am I made? 

Mai. ‘If not, let me see thee a servant still.’ 

Oliv. Why this is very midsummer madness. 


30 

40 

50 

60 


62 


Twelfth Night 


[Act III 


Enter Servant 

Serv. Madam, the young gentleman of the Count 
Orsino’s is returned: I could hardly entreat 
him back: he attends your ladyship’s pleas¬ 
ure. 

Oliv. I’ll come to him. Good Maria, let this fel- 70 
low be looked to. Where’s my cousin Toby? 

Let some of my people have a special care of 
him, I would not have him miscarry for the 
half of my dowry. Exit 

Mai. 0 ho! do you come near me now: no worse 
man than Sir Toby to look to me. This con¬ 
curs directly with the letter, she sends him 
on purpose, that I may appear stubborn to 
him: for she incites me to that in the letter. 
‘Cast thy humble slough,’ says she: be ‘op- 80 
posite with a kinsman, surly with servants, 
let thy tongue tang with arguments of state, 
put thyself into the trick of singularity:’ and 
consequently sets down the manner how: as 
a sad face, a reverend carriage, a slow 
tongue, in the habit of some Sir of note, and 
so forth. I have limed her, but it is Jove’s 
doing, and Jove make me thankful. And 
when she went away now, ‘Let this fellow be 
looked to:’ ‘fellow?’ not Malvolio, nor after my 80 
degree, but ‘fellow.’ Why every thing adheres 
together, that no dram of a scruple, no scruple 
of a scruple, no obstacle, no incredulous or 
unsafe circumstance: What can be said? 
Nothing that can be can come between me 
and the full prospect of my hopes. Well, 
Jove, not I, is the doer of this, and he is to 
be thanked. 

Enter Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria 


Beene IT] 


Twelfth Night 


63 


Sir To. Which way is he, in the name of sanctity? 

If all the devils of hell be drawn in little, and 
Legion himself possessed him, yet I ’ll speak 90 
to him. 

Fab. Here he is, here he is. How is’t with you, 
sir? how is ’t with you, man? 

Mai. Go off; I discard you: let me enjoy my pri¬ 
vate: go off. 

Maria. Lo, how hollow the fiend speaks within 
him: did I not tell you? Sir Toby, my lady 
prays you to have a care of him. 

Mai. Ah, ha! does she so? 

Sir To. Go to, go to; peace, peace; we must deal 

gently with him: let me alone. How do you, 100 
Malvolio? how is’t with you? What, man, 
defy the devil: consider, he’s an enemy to 
mankind. 

Mai. Do you know what you say? 

Maria. La you, an you speak ill of the devil, how 
he takes it at heart. Pray God, he be not be¬ 
witched ! 

Fab. Carry his water to the nurse-woman. 

Maria. Marry and it shall be done tomorrow morn¬ 
ing if I live. My lady would not lose him for 
more than I ’ll say. 110 

Mai. How now mistress? 

Maria. O’ Lord! 

Sir. To. Prithee, hold thy peace; this is not the 
way: do you not see you move him? let me 
alone with him. 

Fab. No way but gentleness; gently, gently: the 
Fiend is rough, and will not be roughly used. 


64 


Twelfth Night 


lAct III 


Sir To. Why, how now, my bawcock? 3 how dost 

thou, chuck? 120 

Mai. Sir! 

Sir To. Ay, Biddy, come with me. What, man! 

’t is not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with 
Satan: hang him, foul collier! 

Maria. Get him to say his prayers, good Sir 
Toby, get him to pray. 

Mai. My prayers, minx! 

Maria. No, I warrant you, he will not hear of 
godliness. 

Mai. Go, hang yourself all: you are idle, shallow 130 
things, I am not of your element, you shall 
know more hereafter. Exit 

Sir To. Is’t possible? 

Fab. If this were played upon a stage now, I 
could condemn it as an improbable fiction. 

Sir To. His very genius hath taken the infection 
of the device, man. 4 

Maria. Nay, pursue him now, lest the device take 
air and taint. 

Fab. Why we shall make him mad indeed. 140 

Maria. The house will be the quieter. 

Sir To. Come, we ’ll have him in a dark room and 
bound. My niece is already in the belief that 
he’s mad: we may carry it thus, for our 
pleasure and his penance, till our very pas¬ 
time, tired out of breath, prompt us to have 
mercy on him: at which time we will bring 

3 Bawcock, from the French beau coq. We imagine that 
Toby pretended to be gentle as he would with a cock or a 
hen, and coaxed Malvolio so. 

4 Even his genius, that is his spirit, familiar spirit, has 
become imported with our plot. The comma after device 
was inserted by Rowe. 



Scene IV] 


Twelfth Night 


65 


the device to the bar and crown thee for a 
finder of madmen. But see, but see. 

Enter Sir Andrew 

Fab. More matter for a May morning. 150 

Sir An. Here’s the challenge, read it: I warrant 
there’s vinegar and pepper in ’t. 

Fab. Is’t so saucy? 

Sir An. Ay, is ’t, I warrant him: but do read. 

Sir To. Give me. Youth, whatsoever thou art, 
thou art but a scurvy fellow. 

Fab. Good, and valiant. 

Sir. To. Wonder not, nor admire not in thy mind, 
why I do call thee so, for I will show thee no 
reason for ’t. 

Fab. A good note; that keeps you from the blow 160 
of the law. 

Sir To. Thou comest to the lady Olivia, and in my 
sight she uses thee kindly: but thou liest in 
thy throat, that is not the matter I challenge 
thee for. 

Fab. Very brief, and to exceeding good sense— 
less. 

Sir To. I will waylay thee going home; where if 
it be thy chance to kill me ,— 

Fab. Good. 

Sir To. —thou killest me like a rogue and a vil- 170 
lain. 

Fab. Still you keep o’ the windy side of the law: 
good. 

Sir To. Fare thee well: and God have mercy upon 
one of our souls! He may have mercy upon 
mine; but my hope is better, and so look to 
thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and 
thy sworn enemy, Andrew Aguecheek. If 


66 


Twelfth Night 


lAct III 


this letter move him not, his legs cannot: 

I ’ll give it him. 

Maria. You may have very fit occasion for’t: he 180 
is now in some commerce with my lady, and 
will by and by depart. 

Sir To. Go, Sir Andrew; scout me for him at the 
corner of the orchard like a bum-baily: 5 so 
soon as ever thou seest him, draw; and, as 
thou drawest, swear horrible; for it comes 
to pass oft that a terrible oath, with a swag¬ 
gering accent sharply twanged off, gives 
manhood more approbation than ever proof 
itself would have earned him. Away. 190 

Sir An. Nay, let me alone for swearing. Exit. 

Sir To. Now will not I deliver his letter: for the 
behaviour of the young gentleman gives him 
out to be of good capacity and breeding: his 
employment between his lord and my niece 
confirms no less: therefore this letter, being 
so excellently ignorant, will breed no terror 
in the youth: he will find it comes from a 
clodpole. But, sir, I will deliver his challenge 
by word of mouth; set upon Aguecheek a notr 200 
able report of valour; and drive the gentle¬ 
man (as I know his youth will aptly receive 
it) into a most hideous opinion of his rage, 
skill, fury and impetuosity. This will so 
fright them both that they will kill one an¬ 
other by the look, like cokatrices. 

Enter Olivia and Viola 

Fab. Here he comes with your niece; give them 
way till he take leave, and presently after 
him. 


‘A bailiff of the meanest kind, one that is employed in 
arrests—Johnson. 



Beene IV] 


Twelfth Night 


67 


Sir To. I will meditate the while upon some hor- 210 
rid message for a challenge. 

Exeunt Sir Toby, Fabian, and Maria 

Oliv. I’ve said too much unto a heart of stone, 

And laid mine honour too unchary on ’t: 

There ’s something in me that reproves my 
fault: 

But such a headstrong potent fault it is 
That it but mocks reproof. 

Viola. With the same ’haviour that your passion 
bears. 

Goes on my master’s grief. 

Oliv. Here, wear this jewel for me, ’t is my pic¬ 
ture: 

Refuse it not; it hath no tongue to vex you: 220 
And I beseech you come again tomorrow. 

What shall you ask of me that I ’ll deny, 

That honour (sav’d) may upon asking give. 
Viola. Nothing but this, your true love for my 
master. 

Oliv. How with mine honour may I give him that 
which I have given to you? 

Viola. I will acquit you. 

Oliv. Well, come again to-morrow: fare thee well: 

A fiend like thee might bear my soul to hell. 

Exit 


Enter Sir Toby and Fabian 

Sir To. Gentleman, God save thee. 230 

Viola. And you, sir. 

Sir To. That defence thou hast, betake thee to 
’t: of what nature the wrongs are thou hast 
done him, I know not: but thy intercepter, 
full of despite, bloody as the hunter, attends 


68 


Twelfth Night 


lAct III 


thee at the orchard-end: dismount thy tuck, 6 
be yare 7 in thy preparation, for thy assail¬ 
ant is quick, skilful, and deadly. 

Viola. You mistake sir I am sure; no man hath 
any quarrel to me: my remembrance is very 
free and clear from any image of offence 
done to any man. 240 

Sir To. You ’ll find it otherwise, I assure you: 
therefore, if you hold your life at any price, 
betake you to your guard; for your opposite 
hath in him what youth, strength, skill, and 
wrath can furnish man withal. 

Viola. I pray you, sir, what is he? 

Sir To. He is knight, dubbed with unhatched 
rapier and on carpet consideration, 8 but he is 
a devil in private brawl; souls and bodies 
hath he divorced three; and his incensement 250 
at this moment is so implacable, that satis¬ 
faction can be none but by pangs of death 
and sepulcher: Hob, nob, is his word; give 
’t or take ’t. 

Viola. I will return again into the house and de¬ 
sire some conduct of the lady. I am no fight¬ 
er. I have heard of some kind of men that 
put quarrels purposely on others, to taste 
their valour: belike this is a man of that 
quirk. 

Sir To. Sir, no; his indignation derives itself out 260 
of a very competent injury: therefore, get 
you on and give him his desire. Back you 
shall not to the house, unless you undertake 

6 t)raw thy sword. A tuck was a small rapier. 

7 Yare means ready, nimble. 

8 Carpet consideration —a reference to carpet knights, 
courtiers dubbed knights, not on the field of battle, but on 
the court. Sir A. was not a wanior. 



Scene IV] 


Twelfth Night 


69 


that with me which with as much safety you 
might answer him: therefore, on, or strip 
your sword stark naked; for meddle 9 you 
must, that ’s certain, or forswear to wear 
iron about you. 

Viola. This is as uncivil as strange. I beseech 

you, do me this courteous office, as to know 270 
of the knight what my offence to him is: it is 
something of my negligence, nothing of my 
purpose. 

Sir To. I will do so. Signor Fabian, stay you by 
this gentleman till my return. Exit 

Viola. Pray you, sir, do you know of this matter? 

Fab. I know the knight is incensed against you, 
even to a mortal arbitrement; but nothing of 
the circumstance more. 

Viola. I beseech you, what manner of man is he? 

Fab. Nothing of that wonderful promise, to read 280 
him by his form, as you are like to find him 
in the proof of his valour. He is indeed, sir, 
the most skilful, bloody, and fatal opposite 
that you could possibly have found in any 
part of Illyria.- Will you walk towards him? 

I will make your peace with him if I can. 

Viola. I shall be much bound to you for ’t: I am 
one that had rather go with sir priest than 
sir knight: I care not who knows so much of 
my mettle. Exeunt 290 

Re-enter Sir Toby with Sir Andrew 

Sir To. Why, man, he’s a very devil; I have not 
seen such a firago. 10 I had a pass with him, 
rapier, scabbard, and all, and he gives me the 

9 Meddle means mix or engage. 

19 May be Sir Toby means virago, though that would ap¬ 
ply to a woman. 



70 


Twelfth Night 


lAct III 


stuck in with such a mortal motion that it 
is inevitable: and on the answer, he pays you 
as surely as your feet hit the ground they 
step on. They say he has been fencer to the 
Sophy. 

Sir An. Pox on ’t. I ’ll not- meddle with him. 

Sir To. Ay, but he will not now be pacified: 300 
Fabian can scarce hold him yonder. 

Sir An. Plague on ’t, an I thought he had been 
valiant and so cunning in fence I’d have seen 
him damned ere I’d have challenged him. Let 
him let the matter slip, and I’ll give him 
my horse, gray Capilet. 

Sir To. I ’ll make the motion: stand here, make 
a good show on’t: this shall end without the 
perdition of souls. [Aside] Marry, I’ll ride 
your horse as well as I ride you. 310 

Enter Fabian and Viola 

[To Fabian] I have his horse to take up the quar¬ 
rel ; I have persuaded him the youth’s a devil. 

Fab. He 11 is as horribly conceited of him: and 
pants and looks pale, as if a bear were at his 
heels. 

Sir To. [To Viola] There’s no remedy, sir; he 
will fight with you for’s oath’s sake: marry, 
he hath better bethought him of his quarrel, 
and he finds that now scarce to be worth talk r 
ing of: therefore draw for the supportance 
of his vow; he protests he will not hurt you. 320 

Viola. [Aside] Pray God defend me! A little 
thing would make me tell them how much I 
lack of a man. 

Fab. Give ground if you see him furious. 


u Of course the antecedent of he is the youth. 



Scene IV] 


Twelfth Night 


71 


Sir To. Come, Sir Andrew, there’s no remedy, 
the gentleman will, for his honour’s sake, 
have one bout with you; he cannot by the 
duello avoid it: but he has promised me, as 
he is a gentleman and soldier, he will not 
hurt you. Come on; to ’t. 

Sir An. Pray God, he keep his oath. 330 

Viola. I do assure you, ’t is against my will. 

[They draw ] 

Enter Antonio 

Ant. Put up your sword: If this young gentleman 
Have done offence, I take the fault on me: 

If you offend him, I for him defy you. 

Sir To. You, sir! why, what are you? 

Ant. One, sir, that for his love dares yet do more. 
Than you have heard him brag to you he will. 

Sir To. Nay, if you be an undertaker, I am for 
you. [ They draw'] 340 


Enter Officers 

Fab. 0 good Sir Toby, hold! here come the of¬ 
ficers. 

Sir To. I’ll be with you anon. 

Viola. Pray, sir, put your sword up, if you please. 

Sir An. Marry, will I, sir: and, for that I prom¬ 
ised you, I ’ll be as good as my word: he will 
bear you easily and reins well. 

1 Off. This is the man: do thy office. 

2 Off. Antonio, I arrest thee at the suit of Count 

Orsino. 

Ant. You do mistake me, sir. 350 

1 Off. No, sir, no jot; I know your favour well: 
Though now you have no sea-cap on your 
head: 


72 


Twelfth Night 


lAct III 


Take him away: he knows I know him well. 

Ant. I must obey. [To Viola] This comes with 
seeking you: 

But there’s no remedy: I shall answer it: 

What will you do: now my necessity 
Makes me to ask you for my purse. It grieves 
me 

Much more for what I cannot do for you. 

Than what befalls myself. You stand amaz’d: 

But be of comfort. 360 

2 Off. Come, sir, away. 

Ant. I must entreat of you some of that money. 
Viola. What money, sir? 

For the fair kindness you have show’d me 
here, 

And, part, being prompted by your present 
trouble, 

Out of my lean and low ability 
I ’ll lend you something: my having is not 
much; 

I ’ll make divison of my present with you: 

Hold, there ’s half my coffer. 

Ant. Will you deny me now? 370 

Is’t possible that my deserts to you 
Can lack persuasion? Do not tempt my 
misery, 

Lest that it make me so unsound a man 
As to upbraid you with those kindnesses 
That I have done for you. 

Viola. I know of none; 

Nor know I you by voice or any feature: 

I hate ingratitude more in a man 

Than lying vainness, babbling drunkenness, 

Or any taint of vice whose strong corruption 380 
Inhabits our frail blood. 

Ant. 0 heavens themselves! 


Scene IV] 


Twelfth Night 


73 


2 Off. Come sir, I pray you, go. 

Ant. Let me speak a little. This youth that you 
see here 

I snatch’d one half out of the jaws of death, 
Reliev’d him with such sanctity of love; 

And to his image, which methought did 
promise ' 

Most venerable worth, did I devotion. 

1 Off. What’s that to us? The time goes by: 
away! 

Ant. But oh, how vile an idol proves this god! 390 
Thou hast, Sebastian, done good features 
shame. 

In nature, there’s no blemish but the mind; 
None can be call’d deform’d but the unkind. 
Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil 
Are empty trunks o’erflourish’d by the devil. 

1 Off. The man grows mad: away with him: 
Come, come, sir. 

Ant. Lead me on. Exit with Officers 

Viola. Methinks his words do from such passion 

fly 

That he believes himself: so do not I. 

Prove true, imagination, oh, prove true 400 
That I, dear brother, be now ta’en for you! 

Sir To. Come hither, knight; come hither, Fab¬ 
ian; we’ll whisper o’er a couplet or two of 
most sage saws. 

Viola. He nam’d Sebastian: I my brother know 
Yet living in my glass; even such and so 
In favour was my brother, and he went 
Still in this fashion, colour, ornament, 

For him I imitate: oh, if it prove, 

Tempests are kind and salt waves fresh in 
love. Exit 

Sir To. A very dishonest paltry boy, and more 410 


74 


Twelfth Night 


[Act III 


a coward than a hare : 12 his dishonesty ap¬ 
pears in leaving his friend here in necessity 
and denying him; and for his cowardship, 
ask Fabian. 

Fab. A coward, a most devout coward, religious 
in it. 

Sir An. ’Slid/ 3 I’ll after him again and beat him. 

Sir To. Do; cuff him soundly, but never draw thy 
sword. Exit 

Sir An. An I do not,— 

Fab. Come, let ’s see the event. 

Sir To. I dare lay any money ’t will be nothing 
yet. Exeunt 

12 Look up coward in a dictionary. There is a possible 
play upon words here. 

,3 From an oath, “by God’s lid.” Watch the outcome 
of this threat. 



ACT IV 


Before Olivia's house 

Enter Sebastian and Clown 

Clown. Will you make me believe that I am not 
sent for you? 

Seb. Go to, go to, thou art a foolish fellow: 

Let me be clear of thee. 

Clown. Well held out, i’ faith: No, I do not know 
you, nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to 
bid you come speak with her; nor your name 
is not Master Cesario; nor this is not my 
nose either. Nothing that is so, is so. 

Seb. I prithee, vent thy folly somewhere else, 10 
Thou know’st not me. 

Clown. Vent my folly:' he has heard that word 
of some great man and now applies it to a 
fool. Vent my folly! I am afraid this great 
lubber, the world, will prove a cockney: 1 I 
prithee now, ungird thy strangeness, and tell 
me what I shall vent to my lady? Shall I 
vent to her that thou art coming? 

Seb. I prithee, foolish Greek, depart from me: 
There’s money for thee: if you tarry longer, 

I shall give worse payment. 

Clown. By my troth, thou hast an open hand. 

These wise men that give fools money get 
themselves a good report—after fourteen 
years’ purchase. 2 

"You will make me believe next that the great round 
world is only a small hen-egg? 

2 The irony is plain. It would take a good while to get 
a good report if one depended on fools. Land was valued 
by what the annual rental would be for twelve years, u*u- 
ally. 


(75) 



76 


Twelfth Night 


lAct IV 


Enter Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and Fabian 

Sir An. Now, sir, have I met you again: there’s 
for you. Striking Sebastian 

Seb. Why, there’s for thee, and there, and there. 

Are all the people mad? 

Beating Sir Andrew 
Sir To. Hold, sir, or I’ll throw your dagger o’er 
the house. 

Clown. This will I tell my lady straight: I would 30 
not be in some of your coats for two pence. 

Exit 

Sir To. Come on, sir; hold. 

Sir An. Nay, let him alone. I’ll go another way 
to work with him: I’ll have an action of bat¬ 
tery against him, if there be any law in 
Illyria: though I struck him first, yet it ’s 
no matter for that. 

Seb. Let go thy hand. 

Sir To. Come, sir, I will not let you go. Come, 
my young soldier, put up your iron: you are 
well fleshed; come on. 40 

Seb. I will be free from thee. What wouldst 
thou now? 

If thou dar’st tempt me further, draw thy 
sword. 

Sir To. What, what? Nay, then I must have an 
ounce or two of this malapert blood from you. 
Enter Olivia 

Oliv. Hold, Toby; on thy life I charge thee, hold! 

Sir To. Madam! 

Oliv. Will it be ever thus? Ungracious wretch, 

Fit for the mountains and the barbarous 
caves, 

Where manners ne’er were preached: out of 
my sight! 

Be not offended, dear Cesario. 


50 


Scene //] 


Twelfth Night 


77 


Rudesby, 5 be gone! 

Exeunt Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Fabian 

I prithee, gentle friend, 
Let thy fair wisdom, not thy passion, sway 
In this uncivil and unjust extent 
Against thy peace. Go with me to my house, 
And hear thou there how many fruitless 
pranks 

This ruffian hath botch’d up, that thou there- 
by 

Mayst smile at this: thou shalt not choose 
but go: 

Do not deny. Beshrew his soul for me, 

He started one poor heart of mine in thee. 
Seb. What relish is in this? how runs the stream? 
Or I am mad, or else this is a dream: 

Let fancy still my sense in Lethe steep, 

If it be thus to dream, still let me sleep. 
Oliv. Nay, come, I prithee; would thou ’dst be 
ruled by me. 

Seb. Madam, I will. 

Oliv. Oh, say so, and so be. Exeunt 

Scene II 

Olivia’s house 

Enter Maria and Clown 

Maria. Nay, I prithee, put on this gown and this 
beard; make him believe thou art Sir Topas 
the curate; do it quickly; I’ll call Sir Toby 
the whilst. Exit 

Clown. Well, I ’ll put it on, and I will dissemble 
myself in’t; and I would I were the first that 


60 


3 Doesn’t Olivia make up a name to call Sir Toby, here? 



78 


Twelfth Night 


[Act IV 


ever dissembled in such a gown. I am not 
tall enough to become the function well, nor 
lean enough to be thought a good student: 
to be said an honest man and a good houser 
keeper goes as fairly as to say a careful man 
and a great scholar. The competitors enter. 1 10 

Enter Sir Toby and Maria 

Sir To. Jove bless thee, Monsieur Parson. 

Clown. Bonos dies , Sir Toby: for, as the old her¬ 
mit of Prague, that never saw pen and ink, 
very wittily said to a niece of King Gorboduc, 
‘That that is is;’ so I, being Monsieur Parson, 
am Monsieur Parson; for what is ‘that’ but 
‘that/ and ‘is* but ‘is’? 

Sir To. To him, Sir Topas. 

Clown. What ho, I say! peace in this prison! 

Sir To. The knave counterfeits well; a good 
knave. 

Mai. [Within] Who calls there? 20 

Clovm. Sir Topas, the curate, who comes to visit 
Malvolio the lunatic. 

Mat. Sir Topas, Sir Topas, good Sir Topas, go 
to my lady. 

Clown. Out, hyperbolical fiend, how vexed thou 
this man? talkest thou nothing but of ladies? 2 

Sir To. Well said, Monsieur Parson. 

Mai. Sir Topas, never was man thus wronged: 
good Sir Topas, do not think I am mad: they 
have laid me here in hideous darkness. 30 

Clown. Fie, thou dishonest Satan: I call thee by 
the most modest terms, for I am one of those 
gentle ones that will use the devil himself 

^Confederates or conspirators. 

2 The clown pretends that he is driving the fiend out of 

Malvolio; madmen were said to be possessed of a devil. 



Scene II ] 


Twelfth Night 


79 


with courtesy: sayest thou that house is 
dark? 

Mai. As hell, Sir Topas. 

Clown. Why, it hath bay-windows transparent 
as barricadoes, 3 and the clear-stories to¬ 
ward the south north are as lustrous as 
ebony; and yet complainest thou of obstruc¬ 
tion? 

Mai. I am not mad, Sir Topas, I say to you this 40 
house is dark. 

Clown. Madman, thou errest: I say there is no 
darkness but ignorance; in which thou art 
more puzzled than the Egyptians in their 

fog. 

Mai. I say this house is as dark as ignorance, 
though ignorance were as dark as hell; and 
I say there was never man thus abused. I 
am no more mad than you are: make the 
trial of it in any constant question. 

Clown. What is the opinion of Pythagoras con- 50 
cerning wild fowl? 

Mai. That the soul of our grandam might haply 
inhabit a bird. 

Cloivn. What thinkest thou of his opinion? 

Mai. I think nobly of the soul, and no way 
approve his opinion. 

Clown. Fare thee well. Remain thou still in 
darkness: thou shalt hold the opinion of 
Pythagoras, ere I will allow of thy wits; 
and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dis¬ 
possess the soul of thy grandam. Fare thee 60 
well. 

Mai. Sir Topas, Sir Topas! 

Sir To. My most exquisite Sir Topas! 

'Of course not transparent at all. Is ebony light, more¬ 
over? 



80 


Twelfth Night 


lAct IV 


Clown. Nay, I am for all waters. 4 

Maria. Thou mightest have done this without 
thy beard and gown, he sees thee not. 

Sir To. To him in thine own voice, and bring 
me word how thou findest him: I would 
we were well rid of this knavery. If he 
be conveniently delivered, I would he were; 70 
for I am now so far in offence with my 
niece, that I cannot pursue with any safety 
this sport to the upshot. Come by and by 
to my chamber. Exeunt Sir Toby and 
Maria 

Clown. [ Singing ] 

Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, 

Tell me how my lady does. 5 

Mai. Fool! 

Clown. My lady is unkind, perdy. 

Mai. Fool. 

Clown. Alas, why is she so? 

Mai. Fool, I say I 80 

Clown. She loves another. Who calls, ha? 

Mol. Good fool, as ever thou wilt deserve well 
at my hand, help me to candle, and pen, ink, 
and paper: as I am a gentleman, I will live 
to be thankful to thee for ’t. 

Clown. Master Malvolio ? 

Mai. Ay, good fool. 

Clown. Alas, sir, how fell you beside your five 
wits? 

Mai. Fool, there was never man so notoriously 
abused: I am as well in my wits fool, as 
thou art. 90 

Clown. But as well: then you are mad indeed, 


4 Up to any kind of tricks. I can play any part. 
6 An old ballad. 



Scene II] 


Twelfth Night 


81 


if you be no better in your wits than a 
fool. 

Mai. They have here propertied me: Keep me 
in darkness, send ministers to me, asses, and 
do all they can to face me out of my wits. 

Clown. Advise you what you say: the minister 
is here. Malvolio, Malvolio, thy wits the 
heavens restore: endeavour thyself to sleep, 
and leave thy vain bibble babble. 6 

Mai. Sir Topas. 100 

Clown. Maintain no words with him, good fel¬ 
low. Who, I, sir? Not I, sir. God be wi’ 
you, good Sir Topas. Marry, amen. . I will, 
sir, I will. 

Mai. Fool, fool, fool, I say! 

Clown. Alas, sir, be patient. What say you 
sir? I am shent for speaking to you. 

Mai. Good fool, help me to find some light and 
some paper; I tell thee I am as well in my 
wits as any man in Illyria. 

Clown. Well-a-day that you were, sir. 110 

Mai. By this hand, I am. Good fool, some ink, 
paper, and light; and convey what I will 
set down to my lady: it shall advantage thee 
more than ever the bearing of letter did. 

Clown. I will held you to ’t. But tell me true, 
are you not mad indeed? or do you but 
counterfeit? 

Mai. Believe me, I am not; I tell thee true. 

Clown. Nay, I’ll ne’er believe a madman till I 
see his brains. I will fetch you light and 
paper and ink. 

Mai. Fool, I’ll requite it in the highest degree: 

I prithee, be gone. 

6 No one would win rne point here that the clown is us¬ 
ing two voices, playing two parts in the dark. 



82 


Twelfth Night 


[Act IV 


Clown. [Singing] 

I am gone, sir, 

And anon, sir 
I’ll be with you again: 

In a trice, 

Like to the old Vice, 

Your need to sustain. 

Who, with dagger of lath, 

In his rage and his wrath, 130 

Cries, ah, ha! to the devil: 

Like a mad lad, 

Pare thy nails, dad, 

Adieu, goodman devil. 

Exit 


Scene III 
Olivia's garden 
Enter Sebastian 

Seb. This is the air; that is the glorious sun; 

This pearl she gave me, I do feel’t and see’t; 

And though ’t is wonder that enwraps me 
thus. 

Yet ’t is not madness. Where’s Antonio, 
then? 

I could not find him at the Elephant: 

Yet there he was; and there I found this 
credit, 

That he did range the town to seek me out. 10 

His counsel now might do me golden service, 

For though my soul disputes well with my 
sense, 

That this may be some error, but no mad¬ 
ness, 

Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune 


Scene III ] 


Twelfth Niqht 


83 


So far exceed all instances, all discourse, 

That I am ready to distrust mine eyes, 

And wrangle with my reason, that persuades 

me 20 

To any other trust but that I'm mad 
Or else the lady’s mad: yet if ’t were so, 

She could not sway her house, command her 
followers, 

Take and give back affairs and their dispatch 
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable 
bearing 

As I perceive she does: there ’s something 
in ’t 

That is deceivable. But here the lady comes. 30 

Enter Olivia and Priest 

Oliv. Blame not this haste of mine: if you mean 
well, 

Now go with me and with this holy man 
Into the chantry by: there, before him, 

And underneath that consecrated roof, 

Plight me the full assurance of your faith, 
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul 
May live at peace. He shall conceal it 
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note, 40 
What time we will our celebration keep 
According to my birth. What do you say? 

Seb. I’ll follow this good man, and go with you; 

And, having sworn truth, ever will be true. 

Oliv. Then lead the way, good father; and 
heavens so shine, 

That they may fairly note this act of mine! 

Exeunt 


ACT V 


Before Olivia’s house 
Enter Clown and Fabian 

Fab. Now, as thou lovest me, let me see his let¬ 
ter. 

Clown. Good Master Fabian, grant me another 
request. 

Fab. Any thing. 

Clown. Do not desire to see this letter. 

Fab. This is to give a dog, and in recompense 
desire my dog again. 

Enter Duke, Viola, Curio, and Lords 

Duke. Belong you to the Lady Olivia, friends? 

Clown. Ay, sir; we are some of her trappings. 

Duke. I know thee well: how dost thou, my 10 
good fellow? 

Clown. Truly, sir, the better for my foes and 
the worse for my friends. 

Duke. Just the contrary; the better for thy 
friends. 

Clown. No, sir, the worse. 

Duke. How can that be? 

Clown. Marry, sir, they praise me and make an 
ass of me; now my foes tell me plainly I 
am an ass: so that by my foes, sir, I profit 20 
in the knowledge of myself, and by my 
friends I am abused: so that, conclusions 
to be as kisses, if your four negatives make 
your two affirmatives, why then the worse 
for my friends and the better for my foes. 

Duke. Why this is excellent. 

Clown. By my troth, sir, no; though it please 
you to be one of my friends. 


Scene /] 


Twelfth Night 


85 


Duke. Thou shalt not be the worse for me: 

there’s gold. 30 

Clown. But that it would be double-dealing, 
sir, I would you could make it another. 

Duke. Oh, you give me ill counsel. 

Clown. Put your grace in your pocket, sir, for 
this once, and let your flesh and blood obey it. 

Duke. Well, I will be so much sinner, to be a 
double-dealer; there’s another. 

Clown. Primo, secundo, tertio is a good play; 
and the old saying is, the third pays for all: 
the triplex, sir, is a good tripping measure: 40 
or the bells of Saint Bennet, sir, may put 
you in mind; one, two, three. 

Duke. You can fool no more money out of me 
at this throw: if you will let your lady know 
I am here to speak with her, and bring her 
along with you, it may awake my bounty 
further. 

Clown. Marry, sir, lullaby to your bounty till I 
come again. I go, sir; but I would not 
have you to think that my desire of having 
is the sin of covetousness: but, as you say, 
sir, let your bounty take a nap, I will awake 
it anon. Exit 

Viola. Here comes the man, sir, that did rescue 
me. 

Enter Antonio and Officers 

Duke. That face of his I do remember well, 

Yet, when I saw it last, it was besmeared 
As black as Vulcan in the smoke of war: 

A bawbling vessel was he captain of, 

For shallow draught and bulk unprizable; 60 
With which such scathful grapple did he 
make 


86 


Twelfth Night 


l Act 


With the most noble bottom of our fleet 
That very envy and the tongue of loss 
Cried fame and honour on him. What’s the 
matter ? 

1 Off. Orsino, this is that Antonio 

That took the Phoenix and her fraught from 
Candy; 

And this is he that did the Tiger board, 
When your young nephew Titus lost his leg: 
Here in the streets, desperate of shame and 
state, 

In private brabble did we apprehend him. 

Viola. He did me kindness, sir, drew on my side, 
But in conclusion put strange speech upon 
me, 

I know not what ’t was but distraction. 

Duke. Notable pirate, thou salt-water thief, 
What foolish boldness brought thee to their 
mercies 

Whom thou, in terms so bloody and so dear, 
Hast made thine enemies? 

Ant. Orsino, noble sir, 

Be pleas’d that I shake off these names you 
give me: 

Antonio never yet was thief or pirate, 
Though I confess, on base and ground 
enough, 

Orsino’s enemy. A witchcraft drew me 
hither: 

That most ungrateful boy there by your side, 
From the rude sea’s enrag’d and foamy 
mouth 

Did I redeem: a wreck past hope he was: 
His life I gave him and did thereto add 
My love, without retention or restraint, 


Scene I ] 


Twelfth Night 


87 


All his in dedication 1 for his sake 
Did I expose myself (pure for his love) 

Into the danger of this adverse town, 

Drew to defend him, when he was beset 100 
Where, being apprehended, his false cun¬ 
ning, 

(Not meaning to partake with me in danger) 
Taught him to face me out of his acquaint¬ 
ance, 2 

And grew a twenty years removed thing 
While one would wink: denied me mine own 
purse, 

Which I had recommended to his use 
Not half an hour before. 110 

Viola. How can this be? 

Duke. When came he to this town? 

Ant. To-day, my lord: and for three months 
before, 

No interim, not a minute’s vacancy, 

Both day and night did we keep company. 
Enter Olivia and Attendants 
Duke. Here comes, the countess, now heaven 
walks on earth: 

But for thee, fellow,—fellow, thy words are 

madness: 120 

Three months this youth hath tended upon 
me, 

But more of that anon. Take him aside. 

Oliv. What would my lord, but that he may not 
have, 

Wherein Olivia may seem serviceable? 

Cesario, you do not keep promise with me. 
Viola. Madam: 

Duke. Gracious Olivia. 

"Note the transferred epithet. All was dedicated to him. 

3 Face me out—deny me* 



88 


Twelfth Night 


\_Act v 


Oliv. What do you say, Cesario? Good my lord. 
Viola. My lord would speak, my duty hushes 
me. 

Oliv. If it be aught to the old tune, my lord, 

It is as fat and fulsome to mine ear 
As howling after music. 

Duke. Still so cruel? 

Oliv. Still so constant, lord. 

Duke. What, to perverseness: you uncivil lady, 
To whose ingrate and unauspicious altars 
My soul the faithfull’st offerings hath 
breath’d out 

That e’er devotion tender’d. What shall I 
do? 

Oliv. Even what it pleases my lord, that shall 
become him. 

Duke. Why should I not (had I the heart to 
do it) 

Like to the Egyptian thief at point of death, 
Kill what I love? (a savage jealousy 
That sometimes savours nobly) But hear 
me this: 

Since you to non-regardance cast my faith, 
And that I partly know the instrument 
That screws me from my true place in your 
favour: 

Live you the marble-breasted tyrant still. 
But this your minion, whom I know you love, 
And whom, by heaven I swear, I tender 
dearly, 

Him will I tear out of that cruel eye, 
Where he sits crowned in his master’s spite. 
Come, boy, with me; my thoughts are ripe 
in mischief: 

I’ll sacrifice the lamb that I do love, 

To spite a raven’s heart within a dove. 


130 

140 

150 

160 


Scene /] 


Twelfth Night 


89 


Viola. And I most jocund, apt, and willingly, 

To do you rest, a thousand deaths would die. 

Oliv. Where goes Cesario? 

Viola. After him I love 

More than I love these eyes, more than my 170 
life, 

More, by all mores, than e’er I shall love 
wife. 

If I do feign, you witnesses above 
Punish my life for tainting of my love. 

Oliv. Ay me, detested, how am I beguil’d? 

Viola. Who does beguile you? who does do you 
wrong? 

Oliv. Hast thou forgot thyself? is it so long? 

Call forth the holy father. 

Duke Come, away! 180 

Oliv. Whither, my lord? Cesario, husband, 
stay. 

Duke. Husband! 

Oliv. Ay, husband: can he that deny? 

Duke. Her husband, sirrah! 

Viola. No, my lord, not I. 

Oliv. Alas, it is the baseness of thy fear 
That makes thee strangle thy propriety: 

Fear not, Cesario; take thy fortunes up; 

Be that thou know’st thou art, and then thou 190 
art 

As great as that thou fear’st. 

Enter Priest 

Oh, welcome father: 

Father, I charge thee, by thy reverence 
Here to unfold, though lately we intended 
To keep in darkness, what occasion now 
Reveals before ’t is ripe: what thou dost know 


90 


Twelfth Night 


[Act V . 


Hath newly passed between this youth, and 
me. 

Priest. A contract of eternal bond of love, 

Confirmed by mutual joinder of your hands, 200 
Attested by the holy close of lips, 

Strengthen’d by interchangement of your 
rings; 

And all the ceremony of this compact 
Seal’d in my function, by my testimony: 

Since when, my watch hath told me, toward 
my grave 

I’ve travell’d but two hours. 

Duke. 0 thou dissembling cub: what wilt thou 

be 210 

When time hath sow’d a grizzle on thy case? 

Or will not else thy craft so quickly grow, 

That thine own trip shall be thine over¬ 
throw ; 

Farewell, and take her; but direct thy feet, 
Where thou, and I (henceforth) may never 
meet. 

Viola. My lord, I do protest. 

Oliv. Oh, do not swear, 

Hold little faith, though thou hast too much 220 
fear. 

Enter Sir Andrew 

Sir An. For the love of God, a surgeon! send 
one presently to Sir Toby. 

Oliv. What’s the matter? 

Sir An. He has broke my head across, and has 
given Sir Toby a bloody coxcomb too; for 
the love of God, your help! I had rather 
than forty pounds I were at home. 

Oliv. Who has done this, Sir Andrew? 

Sir An. The count’s gentleman, one Cesario: we 230 


Scene /] 


Twelfth Night 


91 


took him for a coward, but he’s the very 
devil incarnate. 

Duke. My gentleman Cesario? 

Sir An. ’Od’s lifelings, here he is: You broke 
my head for nothing, and that that I did, I 
was set on to do ’t by Sir Toby. 

Viola. Why do you speak to me, I never hurt 
you: 

You drew your sword upon me without 

cause, 240 

But I bespake you fair, and hurt you not. 

Sir An. If a bloody coxcomb be a hurt, you have 
hurt me: I think you set nothing by a bloody 
coxcomb. 

Enter Sir Toby and Clown 
Here comes Sir Toby halting; you shall hear 
more: but, if he had not been in drink, he 
would have tickled you other gates than he 
did. 

Duke. How now, gentleman? how is’t with you? 

Sir To. That’s all one; has hurt me, and there’s 

the end on ’t. Sot, didst see Dick surgeon, 250 
sot? 

Clown. Oh, he ’s drunk, Sir Toby, an hour 
agone; his eyes were set at eight i’ the morn¬ 
ing. 

Sir To. Then he’s a rogue, and a passy meas¬ 
ures panyn: 3 I hate a drunken rogue. 

Oliv. Away with him! Who hath made this 
havoc with them? 

Sir An. I’ll help you, Sir Toby, because we’ll be 

dressed together. 260 

Sir To. Will you help? an ass-head and a cox- 

z panyn. This may mean a kind of a dance if panyn Is a 

misprint for pavin; it may be only a drunken speech. 



92 


Twelfth Night 


lAct V 


comb and a knave, a thin-faced knave, a 
gull! 

Oliv. Get him to bed, and let his hurt be looked 
to. Exeunt Clown, Fabian, Sir Toby, 
and Sir Andrew 

Enter Sebastian 

Seb. I am sorry, madam, I have hurt your kins¬ 
man; 

But, had it been the brother of my blood, 

I must have done no less with wit and safety. 

You throw a strange regard upon me, and 270 
by that 

I do perceive it hath offended you: 

Pardon me, (sweet one) even for the vows 
We made each other but so late ago. 

Duke. One face, one voice, one habit, and two 
persons, 

A natural perspective, that is and is not! 

Seb. Antonio, 0 my dear Antonio! 

How have the hours rack’d and tortur’d me, 
Since I have lost thee! 280 

Ant. Sebastian are you? 

Seb. Fears’t thou that, Antonio? 

Ant. How have you made division of yourself? 

An apple, cleft in two, is not more twin 
Than these two creatures. Which is Sebas¬ 
tian? 

Oliv. Most wonderful! 

Seb. Do I stand there? I never had a brother: 

Nor can there be that diety in my nature, 

Of here and everywhere. I had a sister, 

Whom the blind waves and surges have 290 
devour’d. 

Of charity, what kin are you to me? 


Scene /] 


Twelfth Night 


93 


What countryman? what name? what par¬ 
entage ? 

Viola. Of Messaline: Sebastian was my father; 
Such a Sebastian was my brother, too, 

So went he suited to his watery tomb: 

If spirits can assume both form and suit, 

You come to fright us. 

Seb. A spirit I am indeed; 300 

But am in that dimension grossly clad 
Which from the womb I did participate. 

Were you a woman, as the rest goes even, 

I should my tears let fall upon your cheek, 

And say, ‘Thrice welcome, drowned Viola!’ 
Viola. My father had a mole upon his brow. 

Seb. And so had mine. 

Viola. And died that day when Viola from her 
birth 

Had numbered thirteen years. 310 

Seb. Oh, that record is lively in my soul! 

He finished indeed his mortal act 
That day that made my sister thirteen years. 
Viola. If nothing lets" to make us happy both 
But this my masculine usurp’d attire, 

Do not embrace me till each circumstance 
Of place, time, fortune, do cohere and jump 
That I am Viola: which to confirm, 

I’ll bring you to a captain in this town, 

Where lie my maiden weeds: by whose 320 
gentle help 

I was preserv’d to serve this noble count. 

All the occurrence of my fortune since 
Hath been between this lady and this lord. 

Seb. [To Olivia] so comes it, lady, you have 
been mistook: 

"In the sense of hinders. Compare a let ball, that is an 
obstructed or hindered ball in tennis. 



94 


Twelfth Night 


lAct y 


But Nature to her bias drew in that. 

You would have been contracted to a maid; 

Nor are you therein (by my life) deceiv’d, 

You are betroth’d both to a maid and man. 830 
Duke. Be not amaz’d; right noble is his blood. 

If this be so, as yet the glass seems true, 

I shall have share in this most happy wreck. 

[To Fiola] Boy, thou hast said to me a 
thousand times 

Thou never shouldst love woman like to me. 
Viola. And all those sayings will I overswear; 

And all those swearings keep as true in soul 
As doth that orbed continent th‘e fire 
That severs day from night. 5 340 

Duke. Give me thy hand; 

And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds. 
Viola. The captain that did bring me first on 
shore 

Hath my maid’s garments: he upon some 
action 

Is now in durance, at Malvolio’s suit, 

A gentleman, and follower of my lady’s. 

Oliv. He shall enlarge him; fetch Malvolio 
hither: 

And yet, alas, now I remember me, 350 

They say, poor gentleman, he’s much dis¬ 
tract. 

Re-enter Clown with a letter, and Fabian 

A most extracting frenzy of mine own 
From my remembrance, clearly banish’d his. 

How does he, sirrah? 

Clown. Truly, madam, he holds Belzebub at the 
stave’s end as well as a man in his case may 


*The sun; the moon was reputed to be less constant. 



Beene /] 


Twelfth Night 


95 


do: has here writ a letter to you, I should 360 
have given’t to you to-day morning; but as a 
madman’s epistles are no gospels, so it skills 
not much when they are delivered. 

Oliv. Open ’t, and read it. 

Clown. Look then to be well edified when the 
fool delivers the madman.— 

[. Reads ] By the Lord, madam — 

Oliv. How now! art thou mad? 

Clown. No, madam, I do but read madness: an 

your ladyship will have it as it ought to be, 370 
you must allow Vox. 6 

Oliv . Prithee, read i’ thy right wits. 

Clown, So I do madonna: but to read his right 
wits is to read thus: therefore perpend, my 
princess, and give ear. 

Oliv. Read it you, sirrah. [To Fabian] 

Fab. [Reads] By the Lord, madam, you wrong 
me and the world shall know it: though you 
have put me into darkness and given your 
drunken cousin rule over me, yet have I the 
benefit of my senses as well as your lady¬ 
ship. I have your own letter that induced me 
to the semblance 1 put on; with the which I 
doubt not but to do myself much right, or 
you much shame. Think of me as you please. 

I leave my duty a little unthought of, and 
speak out of my injury 

The Madly-used Malvolio. 

Oliv. Did he write this? 

Clown. Ay, madam. 390 

Duke. This savours not much of distraction. 

Oliv. See him deliver’d, Fabian; bring him 
hither. Exit Fabian 

My lord, so please you, these things further 

"Perhaps voice, elocution. The clown is a mimic. 



96 


Twelfth Night 


lAct V 


thought on, 

To think me as well a sister as a wife, 

One day shall crown tlT alliance on ’t, so 
please you, 

Here at my house and at my proper 7 cost. 

Duke. Madam, I am most apt 8 t’ embrace your 400 
offer. 

[To Viola] Your master quits you; and for your 
service done him. 

So much against the mettle of your sex, 

So far beneath your soft and tender breeding, 

And since you call’d me master for so long, 
Here is my hand: you shall from this time be 
Your master’s mistress. 

Oliv. A sister, you are she. 

Enter Malvolio 

Duke. Is this the madman?. 410 

Oliv. Ay, my lord, this same. 

How now, Malvolio? 

Mai. Madam, you have done me wrong, 

Notorious wrong. 

Oliv. Have I, Malvolio? no. 

Mai. Lady, you have. Pray you, peruse that 
letter. 

You must not now deny it is your hand: 

Write from it, if you can, in hand or phrase, 

Or say’t is not your seal, nor your invention: 420 
You can say none of this. Well, grant it then, 

And tell me, in the modesty of honour, 

Why you have given me such clear lights of 
favour, 


‘At my own expense. 
*Willing. 



Scene /] 


Twelfth Night 


97 


Bade me come smiling and cross-garter’d to 
you, 

To put on yellow stockings and to frown 
Upon Sir Toby and the lighter people; 

And, acting this in an obedient hope, 

Why have you suffer’d me to be imprison’d, 430 
Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, 

And made the most notorious geek and gull 
That e’er invention play’d on? tell me why? 

Oliv. Alas, Malvolio, this is not my writing, 
Though, I confess, much like the character: 

But out of question ’t is Maria’s hand, 

First told me thou wast mad; then earnest 
in smiling, 

And in such forms which here were presup- 440 
pos’d 

Upon thee in the letter: prithee, be content: 

And now I do bethink me, it was she 
This practice hath most shrewdly pass’d upon 
thee: 

But when we know the grounds and authors 
of it, 

Thou shalt be both the plaintiff and the judge 
Of thine own cause. 

Fab. Good madam, hear me speak, 

And let no quarrel nor no brawl to come, 450 
Taint the condition of this present hour, 

Which I have wonder’d at. In hope it shall 
not, 

Most freely I confess myself and Toby 
Set this device against Malvolio here, 

Upon some stubborn and uncourteous parts 
We had conceiv’d against him. Maria writ 
The letter at Sir Toby’s great importance, 8 


“Importunity, command, desire. 




98 


Twelfth Night 


[Act y 


In recompense whereof he hath married her: 
How with a sportful malice it was follow’d 
May rather pluck on laughter than revenge, 
If that the injuries be justly weigh’d 
That have on both sides pass’d. 

Oliv. Alas, poor fool, how have they baffled thee? 
Clown. Why, “some are born great, some achieve 
greatness, and some have greatness thrown 
upon them.” I was one, sir, in this inter¬ 
lude; one Sir Topas, sir but that’s all one. 
‘By the Lord, fool, I am not mad.’ But do 
you remember?—‘Madam, why laugh you at 
such a barren rascal? an you smile not, he’s 
gagged:’ and thus the whirligig of time 
brings in his revenges. 

Mai. I’ll be reveng’d on the whole pack of you. 

Exit 

Oliv. He hath been most notoriously abus’d. 
Duke. Pursue him, and entreat him to a peace: 
He hath not told us of the captain yet: 
When that is known, and golden time con¬ 
vents, 

A solemn combination shall be made 
Of our dear souls. Meantime, sweet sister, 
We will not part from hence. Cesario, come; 
(For so you shall be, while you are a man:) 
But when in other habits you are seen, 
Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen. 

Exeunt 

Clown. Sings. 

When that I was and a little tiny boy, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

A foolish thing was but a toy, 

For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when 1 came to man's estate, 


460 

470 

480 

490 


Scene I] 


Twelfth Night 


99 


With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

7 Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came, alas! to wive, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

By swaggering could I never thrive, 500 

For the rain it raineth every day. 

But when I came unto my beds, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 

With toss-pots still had drunken heads,' 0 
For the rain it raineth every day. 

A great while ago the world begun, 

With hey, ho, the wind and the ram, 

But that's all one, our play is done, 

And we'll strive to please you every day. 510 

Exit 

10 I had drunken heads along with toss-pots: i. e. drunk¬ 
ards or topers, still. 



SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS 

Literary art does not imitate nature; it idealizes 
nature. This play does not give us the ideas, man¬ 
ners and customs of the Elizabethans, or the Illyrians, 
exactly, as history would give them. It does give, 
however, what the Elizabethans enjoyed, a creation 
of Shakespeare’s imagination. Here is a chance to 
get something of the “light that never was on land 
or sea.” Therefore, here is something to enjoy, to 
reflect upon, and to remember as we always remem¬ 
ber art. 

A classic, that is, a piece of finished work which has 
stood the test of time, is like a good apple, good all 
through. The beginner enjoys it, and the specialist 
enjoys it. We may buy specked apples and find them 
moulded at the core, but the judge of a prize apple 
knows that the fruit looks, tastes, smells nice and is 
moreover “sound to the core.” This reflection is im¬ 
portant here, because the teacher must decide, in any 
teaching situation, how much to teach. The editors 
of this play have had to consider glossary, textual 
criticism, allusions, grammar, and so on. The pupils 
may not be able to go so far, but teacher and pupils 
should sense that a whole is the sum of its parts. 
Some teachers get their class so lost in the parts that 
they can not see the whole; others remain so far 
away from the parts that when the piece is finished, 
the class knows very little of Shakespeare. In the 
High School the class should get the general effect 
such as is given by plot, setting, characters, dramatic 
devices, and then all the details they can assimilate. 
In the college, the class should strive to see every¬ 
thing that can be seen, and sense the problems which 
the scholars state. 


(100) 


Twelfth Night 


101 


Every teacher of Shakespeare should realize that a 
great deal of error has crept in and is still creeping 
in to the study of this poet. A great deal of so called 
scholarship is not scholarship at all; it is only specu¬ 
lation. Do not lead your class to guess or speculate. 
What little your class knows it should know for cer¬ 
tain. Shakespeare tells you nearly everything he 
wants you to know about his plot and his characters. 
You must understand his language, though, if he is 
to tell you what he wishes to tell. The great reason 
for the study of dramatic technique and structure is 
that by means of such study we come to understand 
what Shakespeare was trying to do. It is better to 
know what Shakespeare said and meant than to know 
what Coleridge, for example, thought he said and 
meant, although Coleridge may be right. Read the 
criticism of Coleridge to see how Shakespeare affected 
Coleridge. 

It is important to teach this play as poetical drama, 
not as a novel, not as a short-story, not as one of 
Lamb’s Tales of Shakespeare. Some teachers and 
pupils shy at the study of notes, glossary, stage di¬ 
rections, dramatic structure, etc., but they miss often 
the poetry of Shakespeare. They seem to wish to get 
at Shakespeare at second-hand. This poet had a vivid 
powerful imagination, that is picture making, visu¬ 
alizing power. His audiences had to see with the 
physical eyes and then with the eyes of the mind. He 
was always concrete. If you pass over a speech with¬ 
out getting the meaning, without seeing the pictures, 
remember that the fault is yours, not Shakespeare’s. 
Try this, from the first speech in the play: 

0 spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou, 
That, notwithstanding thy capacity 
Receiveth as the sea. Nought enters there 
Of what validity, and pitch soe’r 


102 


Twelfth Night 


But falls into abatement, and low price, 

Even in a minute; so full of shapes is fancy, 

That it alone is high fantastical. 

For “Spirit of love” one might visualize Cupid or 
Venus. “Quick” means alive. Capacity means capa¬ 
bility, what one can contain. The amount love can 
receive is like that which the sea can receive, their 
“capacity” is alike. “There” refers to sea as well as 
to the capacity of Venus or Cupid. “Validity” means 
value. “Pitch” means the highest point to which a 
falcon flies, therefore abatement an low price carry 
on the figure. One sees a falcon turning upon his 
prey, and the prey falling low( perhaps into the sea). 
We may personify fancy as being full of shapes, as 
the sea is, for it alone is highly fanastical. 

Not directly, but indirectly by means of poetry, 
figures of speech, the Duke says he is in love, but that 
nothing satisfies him. If he calls for a tune, he is 
in a moment dissatisfied. Efe is restless, whimsical, 
sick of love. We think at once that he is sentimental; 
later we find out that he was not in love at all. He 
was just wanting to be in love, and later he fell in 
without trying. The purpose of the dramatist here 
was to let us see what was troubling the Duke. From 
the beginning we do not think him worthy of Olivia. 

Watch for the elements of comedy in this play. It 
has high comedy, low comedy and farce. Your pupils 
will readily see the farce and the broad comedy. They 
will get the practical joke played upon Malvolio. 
They will compare Toby and Andrew with Mutt and 
Jeff of the comic strip, for one is red and fat and the 
other is pale and tall and thin. The high comedy will 
require closer attention. It consists in puns, play 
upon words, conceits, mistakes in language, and so 
on. But most especially, it consists in putting peo¬ 
ple into situations where they think they are doing 


Twelfth Night 


103 


one thing when an observer knows they are doing 
another. The Duke thought he was in love; he was 
just getting ready for true love. Olivia thought she 
was mourning sincerely for her brother, but see how 
quickly she fell in love with Cesario. Sir Toby 
thought he was using fine polite language; he was 
almost as ignorant of words as Mrs. Malaprop. Sir 
Andrew thought he was making great progress in 
learning to be a courtier; we know that he is a silly 
fool. For a time the clown, or professional fool, seems 
to be the wisest person in the company. Malvolio 
was satisfied with himself, but how we despise him! 
We laugh at these people because we feel superior. 
We hope that we know what we are doing. “0 wad 
some power the giftie gie us to see oursels as ithers 
see us. It wad frae mony a blunder free us an’ foolish 
notion.”* 

The only danger in analysis is that the teacher and 
class will fail to keep synthesis close to analysis. 
Have the class read the play over before you begin. 
Then study it. Cut it into fifths or eighteenths and 
study the parts. See all that your capacity will per¬ 
mit you to see. Then put the parts all together again 
by having the play read once more, entire. That will 
be like looking at a map of a city before you enter it, 
like visiting the city, and then like looking back upon 
it in perspective. 

An edition prepared for school use is not as pleas¬ 
ant a book as an edition for the library. In school, 
we prepare for the reading of library books. In our 
study , however, we seem to need scaffolding, the ap¬ 
paratus for teaching. In this edition we have starred 
throughout the first act words which we think the 
pupil should look up in the glossary, words which he 
may think he knows already. It is to be hoped that 

'Burns. “To a Louse.” 



104 


Twelfth Night 


after pupils have looked up some of the words, they 
will get the point and have their eyes quickened for 
the difficulties of Elizabethan language. We hope 
they will desire to see Shakespeare’s images. The 
words use, often, their early meaning. For example, 
prevent may have its early meaning of come before , 
not, hinder. 

Grammar is important in the study of poetry. The 
poet, for certain reasons, may invert his sentences, or 
compose what would be an awkward sentence in prose, 
but even the poet must compose logical sentences. 
References and antecedents are worth watching. In 
the passage quoted from the Duke’s first speech, to 
what does there refer? What is the antecedent of it? 
Since Shakespeare wrote so long ago some customs in 
language have changed. English grammar has a his¬ 
tory, and usages of the past are not good now. We 
notice this matter in Shakespeare’s use of the irregu¬ 
lar verbs. 

One special warning may be of service to young 
teachers or beginners. Pupils if left to themselves 
will not study an English or American classic. They 
will admit that Composition is hard, but there is an 
impression in their minds that Literature is easy. 
You do not have to study that as you have to study 
your Algebra or your Spanish. All you do in pre¬ 
paring a lesson in Literature is to read it over once; 
if you are crowded for time you may read it in class. 
But the teacher of English is entitled to preparation. 
The lesson needs application, reflection, properly moti¬ 
vated work. Convince your class early that it is 
necessary to read slowly and to review. The slow 
task of looking up notes and glossary, of trying to 
visualize settings, entrances, grouping, and figures of 
speech will repay many fold in vividness; the task 
well done will bring to life what seemed dead and 


Twelfth Night 


105 


dry. Your class has seen those Japanese paper flow¬ 
ers which, when cast upon water, begin to unfold or 
grow? The flowers in Shakespeare seem folded and 
dry to many, but if you will get the clue to making 
them unfold and grow, you will experience pleasure 
and profit. 

Testing the Result of Your Teaching 

Try the objective tests. Try selecting typical pas¬ 
sages in the way to see if your pupils can place them. 
You must select passages which are outstanding for 
poetry or for character, or for plot or setting. Catch 
questions will hardly be fair here. Those who visu¬ 
alize best will do well on this kind of a test. Be sure 
to have written and oral themes along with the study. 
Discussions and conversations are profitable. Trans¬ 
late poetical passages into prose. Use the precis. See 
that the class knows the plot in its unity and in its 
coherence. That is, can members of your class review 
the plot in the order in which it was developed? Has 
the class improved in the judgment of literature and 
in the appreciation of poetry? Did you waste time 
teaching the class what the members knew already? 
We spend much unnecessary time going over the same 
ground, especially if a class has read a play by 
Shakespeare before, and knows therefore about the 
Elizabethan theatre, the structure of a play, etc. Has 
your class laughed enough in the study of this com¬ 
edy? Would you teach the play the same way to 
another class? Do you have all the helps you need, 
such as questions upon Shakespeare’s plays, or a 
Shakespearian grammar, or some of the standard 
handbooks to Shakespeare? 


GLOSSARY 


a)Sectioned — affected. 
ample — full. 

anatomy — corpse, skeleton. 
approbation — proof. 

Avion —a Greek poet saved from the sea by a dolphin 
which was attracted to the ship by Arion’s music on 
the lyre. 

aqua-vitae — ardent spirits, brandy, water of life; cf. fire¬ 
water. 

augmentation — addition. 
baffled — disgraced, deluded. 
barracado — barricade. 

bawbling — little bauble, small, worthless. 

beagle — a small hound. 

behaviour — etiquette. 

bent — tension, inclination. 

blab — to talk idly or foolishly, tell a secret. 

blows — puffs up. 

botcher — tailor, or cobbler. 

bottom— ship. 

brabble — brawl, fight. 

branched — embroidered with flowers and leaves. 
breach — surge, surf, breaking of water over a vessel. 
breast — voice. 

brock — badger, a term of reproach. 
cantons — songs. 
case — skin 

catch — a round for three voices. 
chantry — chapel, or altar. 

checks—a. term in falconry — to turn when in pursuit of 
game and fly after something unimportant. Used with 
staniel and haggard, here. 
cheveril —soft leather, kid. 
clog —weight, clot. 

cloistress — a woman who lives in a cloister, a nun. 
cockatrice — a fabulous serpent with a deadly glance. 
codling — a small green apple. 

colours — tricks, deception (pun on colour and collar), 

( 106 ) 


Twelfth Night 


107 


conceited —filled with notions, conceits. 
conduct —attendance (cf. “safe conduct”). 
commerce —conversation, social intercourse. 
complexion —temperament, make-up. 
comptible —sensitive. 

Con —commit to memory, study. 

contemplation —reflection, introspection. 

convents —makes convenient. 

counterfeits —imitates. 

coranto —a dance. 

county —count (O. F. comte). 

coystrill —a base groom. 

cozier —cobbler. 

crowner —coroner (originally an officer of the crown). 

cut —name for a horse, drunk, tipsy. 

curst —short, sharp. 

damask —pink like a damask rose. 

day-bed —sofa. 

daws —black birds smaller than crows. 

degree —step, rank. 

denay —denial. 

device —scheme, stratagem. 

Diana —goddess of the wood, the huntress, helper of women, 
Artemis. 

diluculo surgere (saluberrimum est) —it is healthful to get 
up early. 

distemper-— throw out of balance, make diseased. 
dolphin —the common dolphin is a fish about seven feet 
long. The bottle-nosed dolphin is called a porpoise. 
dormouse —a rodent, like a small squirrel. 
ducat —a gold coin worth about $ 2 . 28 . 
dulcet —sweet. 

Elysium —the dwelling place of happy souls after death. 
embassy —servant, messenger. 
encounter —board, enter. 
enlarge —set free. 

eunuch —a man made sexless by surgery, a chamberlain. 
expressure —expression, impression. 
fadge —agree, fit, work. 

fantastical —highly imaginative. 
favour —aspect, appearance, face, charm. 


108 


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fell — cruel, fierce. 

flatter — joke with in flattery (flattery meant at first per¬ 
haps to rub with the flat of the hand, thus to soothe) 
“flatter with” seems to us an odd idiom. 
fond — (verb) dote (adjective) foolish. 
fool — used as a term of endearment. 
fraught — load, freight 

fustian — cheap, coarse (from a cloth made at Fustat, near 
Cairo). 

galliard — a gay dance, or dance music. 
geek —dupe, fool (from Dutch gek —fop, fool). 
gin — trap. 

grizzle —-hair, beard. 
gaskins — loose breeches. 
haggard — an untrained hawk. 

1bale —drag, draw. 

high —to a high degree (adverb). 

hyperbolical — exaggerated. The clown may be rather care¬ 
less in the use of big words. 

Illyria — an ancient country east of the Adriatic sea. 
importance — importunity, wish, suggestion. 
jets — struts, spouts. 

Jove —Jupiter, Zeus Those born under the planet Jupiter 
were supposed to be jovial. 
lapsed —caught through carelessness. 
leasing — lying. 

Legion —a collective name for all the devils in hell com¬ 
bined into one devil. 
leman— lover, mistress. 

lenten — spare, scanty (perhaps green suggesting spring). 

lethargy — forgetfulness (euphemism for drunkenness). 

lets —hinders, obstructs. 

list— desire. 

malapert —pert, saucy. 

mal'gnancy — evil (a reference to the evil influence of cer¬ 
tain stars). Why do we sometimes exclaim, “my 
stars?” 

manakin — a small bright bird. Fabian probably meant 
manikin —little man, tailor’s model. 
marry —a mild oath (equivalent to “By Marry”). 

maugre~ In spite of* 


Twelfth Night 


109 


mellifluous — flowing like honey, sweet. 
mellow —ripe, mature. 
methought —it seemed to me. 

midwife —a woman who assisted women in childbirth. 
minion —daring, favorite. 

misprision —misapprehension (pun upon a legal term). 

monster —something unnatural. 

mute —silent, deaf and dumb. 

nonpareil —incomparable, without equal. 

nuncio —an announcer, messenger. 

orchard —garden (ort-geard-root or shrub yard). 

owe — own (the past tense was ought). 

peace — as a verb—stop, be quiet. 

peascod — pea pod. 

perchance — by chance. 

perpend — consider. 

personated —represented, impersonated. 
perspective — a glass which gave an optical illusion. 
pilchards — small herring, sardines. 
pipe —voice. 

point-devise —exact, careful. 

points — fastenings to keep the breeches up. 

post —courier, messenger. 

pourquoi —why. 

pregnant —ready, fertile in ideas. 

presently — immediately (notice how all time words weak¬ 
en in meaning). 

prevented — anticipated (from prae — before and venire—to 
come). 

prithee — I pray thee. 
profound — deep. 

proper-false — false individual, handsome imitation. 
propertied — made a tool of. 
purged — cleansed, purified. 

rascal — (early meaning — a poor ragged deer), rogues knave. 

recollected — reminiscent, collected again, not original. 

renegade —deserter from faith or religion. 

reverberate — echoing. 

round — severe, plain spoken. 

rubious — red, ruby. 

sack — sherry, or strong white wine (it was burned (boiled) 


110 


Twelfth Night 


to weaken it. Some liked it warm). 

“save you ”—May God save you. 

scruple —a weight of twenty grains, a small stone, anything 
small. 

shent —scolded, reproved. 
shrew —a scold. 
shrewishly —sharply, saucily. 
signor —lord or gentleman. 

sinister —left, opposed to dexter, right; therefore wrong. 
sirrah —used with inferiors, where sir was used with su¬ 
periors or equals. 

“skills not ”—matters not. 
skittish —capricious, restive, shy. 

’Slight —an oath, By God’s light. 

“ sneck up” —go hang. 
sowter —name for a hound. 

spleen —violent laughter, or mirth; any violent emotion 
(the spleen was said to be the seat of emotions). 
squash —an undeveloped pea pod. 
stone-l)Ow —bow for shooting stones. 

stoup a small vessel for liquids (first used for holy water 
at the entrance of a church). 
suited —dressed. 

surfeiting —overdoing, especially overeating. 
swabber —one who swabs the decks of a ship. 
s way —govern. 
tabor —a small drum. 

Tartar —Tartarus, Hades. 

Taurus —a sign of the zodiac, the bull. 
tall —brave, bold. 
testril —a sixpence. 
to —til, until. 

toss-pots —topers, drunkards. 
undertaker —a second, a meddler. 
unhatched —unhacked. 

unkind —differing from humankind, unnatural. 
unprizable —not prized or appraised as of value. 
viol-de gamboys—a violincello with six strings (Italian 
Viola da garnba —a viol held between the knees). 
wainropes —cart or wagon ropes. 
wanton— undisciplined, and then lustful. 


Twelfth Night 


111 


weeds —clothing (from Anglo-Saxon waed; the other word 
weed is from weod. The words became confused in 
spelling). 

welkin —the vault of heaven (from Anglo-Saxon wolcen —a 
cloud). 

loench —child, maid-servant (we have now limited the 
word). 

'wing —flight. 

zanies —servants to fools, simpletons, insane people. 
















































